Remember November
by brightneeBee
Summary: Fallen into the Dark Arts, and creating experiments even Voldemort is hesitant to consider, Hermione finds herself being chaperoned on a trip to the past. Decisions need to be made, but choices cannot be made blindly. TimeTravel, TMR/HG/LV Updates will be slow, but story will be extremely long.
1. Chapter 1

Remember November

Chapter One

"I hate this house…Don't you think this house is small, Crookshanks?" She asked her furry orange companion, while she ran her fingers through the cat's thick coat. Hermione scoffed at herself, "Merlin's beard! I'm having long conversations with my cat – I am that deprived of social interaction!"

She continued to pet her fluffy friend as she ranted in her boredom induced irritation. "I mean…Okay, look at this house! Look at this house, Crooks! Look at the spotless floors and surfaces! Look at the organized shelves and all around cleanliness of it! It only took me an hour to clean the entire house by hand! That was at eight 'o' clock this morning! It's only a quarter after nine, and I have nothing left to do other than wait around for something to happen!"

Hermione stood, staring out the sitting room window at the beautiful view of the backyard. She remembered when the Order had moved Ron and her to the small cottage; in the middle of the dense Forest of Dean, where the trees thinned out and disappeared into a beautiful meadow filled with lavender and daisies and alyssum blossoms, secluded and off the Ministry's radar. It was a safe-house, mainly to keep Hermione from being captured by Death Eaters, and several other Order members who could no longer be seen by the Magical population – not with posters advertising rewards for most of the Order of the Phoenix's capture.

Ron, of course, had begun considering it as _their _home, even if there were three other people residing in the house, as well. As though Hermione would be staying once (if) the war _ever _ended in the Order's favor. Even if Tom Riddle won, Hermione would be transfiguring herself and buying a plane ticket out of Britain, _Doesn't seem like an en__tirely bad idea right now._

"Four years, Crooks," she sighed, turning her back to the window, "Four years in this prison with a man I despise...Of course, I've come to despise the entire Order, as of late, but at least they don't talk about me like I'm a piece of chattel; a prized choice of breeding stock."

She gazed at the backyard, at the beautiful flower and vegetable gardens. She remembered the first months after arriving at the safe-house; gardening with Remus while Tonks entertained their son, Teddy, by making funny faces. Hermione knew the cottage wasn't as small as she complained it to be, but it felt tiny compared to Grimmauld Place and the Burrow where there were rooms to hide in, space to breathe. Yes, she had space if she left the house, but there was always so much research to be done. No one else knew of the task at hand, not even Ron. No, this idea had been hatched between Professor Snape and herself. Hermione was no fool; it would be another stroke of luck if Harry defeated the Dark Lord, permanently. She had had more than several conferences with the Professor, in secret of course, about the Potions Master's allegiances. More importantly, Hermione had read over the reports Snape had brought to her, along with his progress in the experiment. It seemed the Dark Lord, with the backing of his Pureblooded followers, planned to better the Magical community, instead of ruin everything the Ministry of Magic and Statutes of Secrecy had built thus far. From Professor Snape's notes, Hermione could see why Voldemort gained more followers with each passing day. Her only problems stopping her from jumping ship were quite simple: Harry, and the fact that she was Muggleborn. She sighed, watching Remus and Tonks play with their son in the flower garden.

She remembered the night of the Battle of Hogwarts, how chaotic and unorganized both sides had been. It had been a realization to her, seeing how outnumbered the Order was compared to the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. They had been lucky to get Harry out before everything was lost. Now Harry was so deep in hiding, freed from the piece of Voldemort's soul, both adversaries weakened, and Hermione hadn't heard from her friend or the rest of the Order for quite some time. She certainly hadn't heard from Harry since the Battle of Hogwarts.

With Voldemort now running the Ministry of Magic, Harry was untouchable to anyone that mattered to him, and Hermione had been confined to the cottage, unable to leave.

"It is just so tiny, Crooks! I feel claustrophobic stuck in this house, day after day! We rarely get visitors anymore! I am so bored with doing nothing every day! It's been ages since I received a visit from Professor Snape…I don't even know where Harry is or what he is doing…"

Ginny and Fleur were not able to come by, save for rare occasions; Ginny was in hiding now, as well, living in Brussels somewhere veiled in the way of muggle culture and living. Bill and Fleur had added extra security to their home, Shell Cottage, now that they had children together; two beautiful little girls, Victoire, three, and Dominique, two, and a one year old son, Louis. How Hermione longed to spend time with Dominique and Victoire, and coo over Louis and his pale blonde hair. She fingered the cubby holding the paints and other art supplies she and the girls used. She missed those two. If she did not survive this war, she would regret the fact that she would never see her nieces and nephews again.

George lived in the same neighborhood, with Fred who did not die during the Battle of Hogwarts, but only slipped into a coma for a very long while. With the care of Hermione and the detested Potions Master, Fred finally awakened…and then begged to be killed once he was informed of the Dark Lord's small victory.

Not one to sit in a house with Hermione and her short temper, Ron had taken to disguising himself to traipse about the pubs in the nearby villages, never caring that he could be caught and killed. He usually came back to the safe-house when he felt like it, always reeking of cheap perfume and booze, with lipstick smeared over his face and neck.

Hermione sighed, "I just want more than this life, Crookshanks! I need this venture to work…I need to have an advantage – I need to be able to survive-"

Her rant was interrupted by a distinct knock at the front door, causing her to get excited and rush to the front of the house, pausing in front of a mirror to smooth down flyaway frizz from her loose hanging curls. She consciously strived to be as put together as her untamable hair and plain appearance allowed her to be. It did not matter as much to her, but the more smoothed down her wild hair was, the more teasing of a hint of cleavage from her jumpers all worked in her favor to loosen the Professor's tongue just a little more easily. She found she drove a very delicious satisfaction from their meetings, even if very little happened, sometimes.

She peeked through the peep hole in the door, before opening it to a very tall, blonde, and European man. "Just come in, up the stairs and first door on your left. Remus and Tonks are in the backyard."

The man sniffed the air, entered the house, his body sliding against the front of Hermione to get past, even if there was enough room for him to walk by easily. The blatant flirtation the Professor, under his disguise, never failed to rev Hermione's engine, even if it was with the snarky, rather rude Death Eater spy. She may have wanted to take him, if only to feel like she was living a little, but she never assumed it would go past heavy flirtations and light petting. It gave her something to look forward to, and it ensured that he would continue to pass along reports on Voldemort's latest improvements within the Ministry under the Thicknesse administration, and further progress on the experiment. He seemed so close to a breakthrough during his previous visit, and she was counting on him.

Up the stairs in her private bedroom, he was able to drop the facade and revert to his original form. He pushed her against the bedroom door, and with his hand firmly planted against the wall beside her head, she could feel his heart beating through his expensive black suit and his breath sifting over her face. Her blood boiled with want as his spare hand turned her face to the side, and he took the moment to trail his fingers along her dainty neck. He knew he could never have her while she was trapped in the cottage with Weasley, but the no-good-carrot-top was never home when he dropped in with news of the Death Eaters and reports on his experiments. He knew Hermione was the only chance, the only brain, besides his, that could help take down Voldemort from the shadows, and she knew he wanted her, but she was too focused on everything else to even consider the almost kisses when he was there.

"Listen very carefully, _Miss Granger_…" He always started with this, and it always set the mood for Hermione, and he knew this. Acting like her Professor always aroused her, and kept her mind on the hand now sliding up the outside of her bare thigh. "The Dark Lord is closing in on Potter. I have kept _them_ off his trail this long, but I cannot keep him safe and off the radar forever without my presence being noticed. He needs to go into a different form of hiding, somewhere the Death Eaters would never think to look…"

Hermione could hear her own breathing, her heart was pounding, and she felt excited and alive again, "I don't even know where he is..." Why did he always have to put his mouth against her ear and breathe down her neck? It was so distracting, and it was so difficult to push through it and think correctly, "Perhaps some tea?"

"After you," he stepped away, giving her room to move easily to the small desk pushed up against the far right wall next to her wardrobe. He watched her flick her wand and the desk scraped forward to settle between the two wooden chairs, a tea tray popping into existence. There was already tea steaming in the pot.

Once both of them were respectively seated on opposites of the desk, Hermione began preparing the tea cups. "Your usual?" She asked, beginning to pour the Earl Grey.

Professor Snape settled in, took his cup of Grey with just a lemon wedge, and waited for Hermione to make the suggestion he knew she was about to bother him with. He watched her under a thin row of black lashes, and waited. Every move was graceful and elegant, even if she didn't even notice herself; he reveled in his thoughts, _'I cannot keep living on day dreams about her writhing in pleasu__re underneath me, no matter how real they might feel…Hopefully, soon...'_

He was brought back from his musing by a delicate sigh from across the coffee table. His eyes focused and asserted Hermione gazing at him from above her tea cup. "So, what is your suggestion, Ms. Granger?"

"Muggles," she said simply, thinking of Fred and George and Ginny. "We could move him into Brussels with Ginny, change his identity – his face, his hair, and cover the scar. He would have a freedom that he does not have in seclusion, like he is in now. Fred, George, and Ginny, they will keep him safe, monitor him."

"Interesting idea, Miss Granger," the Potions Master stated in a crisp and cold tone, "How do you plan we do that? Potter still distrusts me, and as the Weasleys have turned on you, so has Potter…"

There, it was done. A small challenge to her allegiances, and she would be mulling it over for days. It was a waiting game for him at that point. He was a patient man and he could wait as long as it took.

Hermione's resolve turned to stone, showing nothing, her eyes were completely blank, "If you finished with the _experiment_ then I would not have to worry about such a problem. Are there any other bits on the Dark Lord?" She took another sip from her tea.

Humph, Severus thought, and then shrugged off the feeling of disappointment; he had obviously trained her well. Instead, he continued to watch her talk, entranced by the supple pink lips. _'I would change the world to taste her lips. If only I could kiss her…Merlin, just once! I imagine they would taste sweeter than Lily...'_

He decided to lead into the heavier information he knew she would be passing along, "I have already told Potter this, so the grapevine is severely short for you now…" He paused to look out of the large bay windows before continuing, "The Dark Lord is closing in on the Weasleys, most notably Ronald, since he is out in the open every single day –"

"– and night. Yes, I know," Hermione set her cup down. She cleared her throat, attempting to keep perverse thoughts of her Potions Professor from her mind. Anger was always present when Ron was involved, which was usually a perfect way to run the seductive images of Professor Snape from her mind. "But…He brings it on himself. I know that he transfigures himself and goes off drinking every damn day into a stupor. I know these things..._Professor_. I know! He is Death Eater bait, he is a drunk…I try to help him, and he takes offense, runs off while leaving me here, locked up in this house like a prisoner because I have the sense to stay hidden. So, yes…Please…tell me something I do not know."

"Yaxley has been most impressive with his tracking of Weasley these last few weeks. In three days, the Death Eaters will have broken the wards the Order so exquisitely placed around this cottage with the hope of killing Weasley and _capturing_ _you_. Lupin's little family will need to be moved, and Weasley and yourself will need to separate if you have any chance of surviving before I can complete the last trials of the experiment...They plan to torture you until you give up Potter. What use will you be, Hermione? Dead, you would be useless! Alive, you will help end this war!"

Hermione smirked, "Do as you must, Professor Snape. I told you in confidence that if I could, I would make a decision about allegiances, but I cannot give you an answer just yet…Regarding Yaxley's abilities with ward-breaking – I doubt he would be able to break all of the extra security measures I placed after the Order dumped me here."

Severus Snape cocked his head to the side, the long ebony locks falling over his shoulder. He was confused, and Hermione derived sweet satisfaction when he showed his confusion. She continued, "They do not know the exact location, or the name of this place…thus, they will never break in, or see it from the outside. Do you know why that is, _Professor_?" She stressed, gleaming at him from over the rim of her teacup.

Severus gave a big sigh, and conceited his defeat, "No…please, enlighten me."

Hermione smirked again, "Because I made you Secret-Keeper."

She smiled, almost evilly, while she watched his face produce a look of horror, then denial, and then rage. "YOU DID WHAT?" His fist slammed down upon the coffee table.

"I made you Secret-Keeper, Professor. You are the only person I know that can keep a secret, even under extreme torture and threat of death. I am not basing this on Dumbledore's opinion of you, and his respect for you. I am basing this on my experience and observations of you. You are one of the few people I can trust."

"YOU MADE ME SECRET-KEEPER…WITHOUT…MY…APPROVAL, GRANGER!"

Hermione laughed, leaning forward to touch the fist that was still trembling on top of the desk. Her touch halted his rage, causing him to stare down at the delicate and soft hand caressing his masculine hand. Her touch sent flames up his arm to spread through his body. Lust was ignited in him, and he worked hard to squelch the desire. If it grew into the wildfire he knew it could, he was not sure he could be held responsible for his actions. He withdrew his hand quickly, startling Hermione. Her hand retreated close to her chest, insecure and unsure if it was because she touched him, or if he did not want her touching him.

"It was just a Fidelius Charm, but I apologize," said Hermione. "I didn't mean to violate your personal space. I'll try to refrain…"

He cleared his throat, "Regarding the experiment," he proceeded, as if nothing had transpired between them, "I am almost finished...I brought you the theories and steps, the results from the last trial, if you wish to look it over?"

"I would very much like to see where we are," Hermione set her tea down, reaching for the parchments the spy pulled from his inside his frock. She leaned back to read his findings as he watched in silence, prepared to answer any questions she may have had.

The results were phenomenal, and Hermione could barely contain her glee while she continued to read on. Trials had shown the importance of willing sacrifices along with the way in which the sacrifice had to be made. It was pertinent in the Professor's results that the participant needed to be willing with no use of magical influences, it was basically suicide, but it was necessary. It was an experiment created from altering several ancient healing rituals; combining soul magic theories from the Shang Dynasty and scrolls from a collapsed cave in what used to be Nazareth, and handwritten tomes from before the year nine Anno Domini found scattered all over the globe. Reading over the refined notes that Snape had written, Hermione almost shrieked in excitement. With more trials on Muggle specimens, they would be well on their way to starting the work on solidifying magical cores into the bloodstream, and melding the soul into the body, permanently, with Arithmetic equations to boost the power source that would keep her alive. If they succeeded, Hermione would have achieved something that the Dark Lord had never been able to: Immortality. Willingly sacrificing herself for the Greater Good in the most obvious of ways, to be brought back from the dead…it had been a brilliant idea when she had been thinking just about creating a 'thicker skin' so to speak, but the possibilities that the Professor had uncovered were astronomically more beneficial. Hermione may have fallen far into the Dark Arts, but she had drawn the line at seeking power for personal gain, but by going through with this hybrid ritual, for it to be done on her, she would become a weapon upon herself – it would ensure that she survive whatever needed to be done. With the proper training afterward, she would be indestructible! All because of one idea and the Professor's constant searching around the world for the information she needed.

Yes, she had kept Professor Snape extremely busy during his rejoining of Voldemort's ranks. In fact, he had been lucky that the Dark Lord had taken him back into the folds, at all. But Hermione was certain the Potions Master's closeness to Harry Potter's encyclopedia had something to do with it. She could not blame the Professor for using her as leverage for his own life. Anything that kept him alive as long as she needed him would work in her favor, eventually. And indeed it had, it had worked out incredibly well for her.

"Why didn't you write your thoughts regarding the Nazareth scrolls?" asked Hermione, looking up from the parchments.

Severus sneered, "I am just the development department, Miss Granger, not the sole person executing this type of ritual, nor am I the one researching the fundamental theories perfecting this experiment, you are."

"Very well," Hermione nodded, glaring at the parchments, "When I leave this house, where am I to go? I can hide myself pretty well, but it would complicate our work if you were unable to find me…"

He could only smirk at her from over his tea, shaking his head before he finished his sip, "I have that covered, do not worry."

Hermione only nodded, knowing better than to even think of asking how, "When do you imagine you'll be finished with these trials? If I'm to send the Lupins and Ron on their ways, and myself to be chased down by the Dark Lord's followers...I need to know how long I will be on the run before we can proceed. You know I'm done with the Order. The Dark Lord is doing more good than bad in the public eye, and if the only thing signing my death warrant is my blood status then I need to find something to bargain with. As it is, I would prefer to be able to travel and take in as much knowledge as possible, without a Death Eater hunting me down everywhere I go."

The room was silent for quite some time as the sour Potions Master gazed at her from across the desk. Since they had begun the secret meetings under the pretense of him handing over information for the Order to her, Severus had yet to learn what had caused the girl's – woman, he corrected himself – the woman's change of heart when it came to whose side to fight on. He only knew she was impressed by the Dark Lord's work, besides the propaganda against Muggleborns, and disgusted with the Order's utter chaos and lack of organization or power structure after Dumbledore had died. Severus was only aware that she was not willing to give up Harry, no matter that he refused to speak with her, and she was now more obsessed with the Dark Arts than even he, Snape, had been in his youth. She would willingly serve up every member of the Order to the Dark Lord on a silver platter, except Harry Potter, in order to keep herself alive. This, above all else, puzzled him. Gone was the fearless, proud Muggleborn prepared to fight to the death for Dumbledore and his precious Order of the Phoenix. The woman that sat before him was practical, valuing her life more than anything else, and surrounded in an aura of extreme darkness. She was more like the Dark Lord than anyone would care to admit. It was one thing that Severus could agree with Dumbledore on, that the school sorted too early.

"What if I captured you," Severus suggested, "or brought you to the Dark Lord as a willing betrayer of Harry Potter?"

"I'm not sure if I want to be his follower, Professor…I would much rather go off on my own to find what I seek…Besides, my blood status would make me a target by every single Death Eater of his," she said, attempting to follow his train of thought.

"What if we faked adoption records? There must be some way to legitimately say you are a Pureblood – or a half-blood," he challenged, "You are more than accomplished with memory charms and computer hacking, Miss Granger...why not put it to the ultimate test? I know of every orphaned -"

"No, Professor, I will _not_ agree to any of this until I decide on what I want to do," Hermione stated sternly, "Why can't we just perfect the ritual, and then I can decide what I will do next?"

"Because you don't have the luxury of time, Miss Granger," said Snape. "I am sorry, but I need an answer for the Dark Lord. He wants to collect you…though he will not tell me for what purpose…he is desperate for the scrolls of Nazareth, and the theories from the Shang Dynasty – and he knows you have them!"

Hermione glared, "I will not be forced into a decision, Professor – especially, not by him. He can wait, or he can come for me on his own. I would not decline a civil meeting, but I refuse to be pressured into following him because he is unnerved by the surge in my power…just because it took him twenty years when I breezed through the Dark Arts in a mere three year span," she grumbled, rolling her eyes and gazing across the room to the window. "I ally myself with no one but you, at this moment in time. If _he_ proves himself to be trustworthy enough to meet, I will give him all the information _after_ we are finished with my experimental ritual. I would not put it past him to take all the information I carry and then kill me. I would like to have an advantage over his mortal body."

"Very well," Snape bit out, looking quite ruffled under the feathers. "I am not your minion, Miss Granger – nor am I your personal owl-"

A suffocating pressure cut off the Professor mid-sentence, as Hermione's irritation levels reached their peaks. Delicate wisps of crackling, statically charged black smoke rolled off of her skin in dainty tendrils weaving through the air between the two beings, twisting around the Professor's throat and clenching down on his Adam's apple. He had yet to be on the receiving end of her acutely controlled power, and the fact that she was holding back exponentially made him wonder as to how far she really had fallen into the Darkness of her own self? It made him wary to see how she could change her aura from Light to Dark, as fast and simple as one could flip a switch, but to feel a fraction of the strength she had unleashed inside of her, all the power she had been born with and had simply locked up to keep her friends safe…It was terrifying, but he would not allow her the satisfaction by showing her how frightening, or arousing, to him she had become. No, he had survived under the Dark Lord; he could certainly hide his caution from a little witch.

"I understand your aggravation, Professor," she smiled, alleviating some of the pressure off of his windpipe, "but you are under the assumption that I will do as you, or anyone else, asks. I am not the naïve little girl any longer. I may have been trapped in this house for the past four years, but I am just as deadly as the Dark Lord – and just as intelligent…I will _not_ be fooled."

"Miss Granger," stated the Professor. "I will do what I can, but you cannot keep eluding the Dark Lord for long. He will be less understanding if you continue to play these games with him – I refuse to be on the end of another Cruciatus Curse because you refuse to give him an answer!"

She withdrew her presence quickly before exuding an aura of calm and warmth – a useful trick she had mastered from the written teachings of an ancient Sorceress in Greece. It would leave the Professor less stressed until he left the safe-house. She summoned a plain parchment letter and handed it to him, "Just deliver this to the Dark Lord, Professor. I cannot guarantee that it will persuade him from taking his frustrations out on you, but it will placate him enough to hopefully consider the option of choosing someone else for his torture practice. Is there anything else that I need to know?"

"No, Miss Granger," he answered, pocketing the letter. "I will be back tomorrow at midnight to collect you, and you will be moved to my home on Spinner's End. No one will come looking for you there."

She nodded her head in agreement, "That leaves me twenty-four hours to relocate Remus and his family, and decide on what to do about Ron…You will take care of Harry?"

"Yes."

"Good," said Hermione, getting up from her seat. "I will show out you, Professor…"

He reinstated his Transfigured disguise, standing tall as a blonde Scandinavian wizard, once more. He slid past Hermione down the stairs to the front door, stealing feather-light touches of her smooth skin, before slipping out of the house as the witch turned to face the bemused Lupin family with a look of grim offerings. She offered no coddling behavior, no warmth when she spoke, it was all cold and crisp, and her tone caused Remus to flinch.

"Pack your things," she said matter-of-factly, "He's closing in on us. I need to move you tonight."

As Remus and Tonks tore up the stairs to their rooms, Teddy bouncing in the werewolf's arms, Hermione set to packing her own things quickly, securing her research in her beaded bag, before settling in the sitting room and tapping her wand against her thigh while she decided what to do about Ronald Weasley. Several ideas flitted through her mind, some with too many complications, others that appeased to her darker nature. In the end, her lust for revenge won out, and her decision was made by the time Remus and his small family came back down from upstairs.

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters. I do not gain any monetary profit from writing this story. I just derive pleasure from writing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Remember November**

**Chapter Two**

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter or affiliates. I am a mere, humble FanFiction writer, and these stories bear me no profit, only immense satisfaction and something to fill my day.

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Read and Review.

* * *

"My Lord," Severus knelt, his head down and his eyes fixed upon the parquet floors of Malfoy Manor. It had taken weeks, but he had finally been granted a private audience with the Dark Lord. The room was completely warded and void of the other followers in the Manor. His secret venture with Hermione Granger, Mudblood extraordinaire, would be revealed (even if it meant a tongue lashing from aforementioned Mudblood), and he was certain the Dark Lord would be pleased enough to spare the death sentence hanging over the woman's head.

Hermione would have already been caught and murdered by now if Severus had not stashed her away in the depths of his family home in Spinner's End; all the while perfecting the experiment they had so tortuously been working together on for close to two years. It seemed surreal that they had finished so quickly, but he knew Hermione had been more than relieved once the last problem had been resolved. It seemed a pity that once Hermione went under the experiment, herself acting as the final test subject, she would be taking her intelligence and fleeing the UK. If this meeting worked out in her favor, Severus hoped to keep her in the Dark Lord's ranks, close to him, for as long as he lived. He was too attached to let her slip through his fingers. He may be an intelligent man, but Severus Snape was also a greedy little boy, and he wanted Hermione Granger all to himself.

While he waited for the Dark Lord to permit him to speak, Severus thought upon the idea that Hermione was tracing entire ancient family trees in her search to locate the deciding factors in wizarding DNA. Apparently, Hermione, with access to Muggle and magical family records, had been able to trace how the magical bloodlines that had inter-married for hundreds to thousands of years continued to produce Squib offspring, and how those Squib lines created so called "Muggleborns." As well as tracing how much Fey and Veela heritage that had been intermingling with Pureblood wizarding lines since the First Century, she was also tracing the lines into Muggle lineage, hoping to find that she was related in some way to the magical community she had been invited into by Minerva McGonagall before the girl began Hogwarts. It was enough to keep her from bothering him in the underground cellar as he abducted Muggles and wizards to base his trials on. She was very close to finding what she sought, and Severus admired how nothing could hide from the woman, with that scrutinizing eye of hers.

"Severus," the Dark Lord hissed softly, "Stand and indulge me upon this bizarre request. What is so secret that my followers could not be present?"

Standing, Severus gazed emotionless into the snake-like face of Voldemort, the visage irrelevant to him after so many years of service. He pulled the huge stack of parchments from the hidden pocket of his frock and stepped forward for the Dark Lord to examine, "I have been meeting with the Mudblood Granger, my Lord, just as you asked me to," he cringed under the suspicious glare from those glowing red slits called eyes and chastised himself for his blatant show of weakness, "She has a brilliant mind, my Lord. She came up with the fundamental theory; I merely perfected the experiments through trials. She is more Slytherin than anyone could have imagined."

"What are her plans with all those ancient writings, Severus: To take me down on her own?" The Dark Lord would be suspicious of any Order member conspiring with his followers, Severus was well aware of that fact. "I believe I asked for you to seduce her to the Dark – not create experiments and test them using her as the guinea pig."

"We have used Muggles and Mudbloods, my Lord. She has yet to test her theories on herself," he said plainly, "As for your offer, Master. You are aware that she has been persuaded to the Dark…but she is hesitant to join your ranks, Master. You told me of her power, of her potential, but I believe she may have drifted too far-"

"Nonsense," The Dark Lord eyed his follower, disbelieving of anything in relation to Potter's Mudblood. "She has read and practiced with first-try accuracy, she has not murdered or torn her soul, nor has she – and she will never – achieve the feats that I, myself, have. She is powerful witch, a _dark_ witch, but she will never travel far enough down the path to reach her _full_ potential. Not without proper tutelage, _my_ tutelage…"

"But she has killed, my Lord," Severus admitted, keeping his head bent and his eyes on the floor.

The Dark Lord leaned forward, intrigued, and used the tip of his yew wand to lift Snape's eyes to meet his Lord's gaze, "She has committed murder, Severus? Whom did she kill?"

"The Weasley brat, my Lord," said Snape. "Ron Weasley – the one Yaxley was told to follow."

"And she killed him…why?"

Severus steadied his breath, still disturbed at Hermione's answer to the question he had posed weeks before, "She told me it was a better…decision than allowing him to live. She said…that he pounced about with a target on his back, she was only giving him what he was obviously asking for…"

Voldemort withdrew his wand from the greasy-haired wizard's chin and sat back in his chair to ponder Snape's information. So, the Granger Mudblood had actually murdered someone – and not anyone, but her childhood friend, no less? It was positively alarming in witness to her previous character, let alone the short amount of time it had taken her to go from shining example of Light, to a formidable dark witch. He needed her under his control, or she could quite possibly bring another political upheaval to knock on his front door, so to speak. She was almost as intelligent as he, but she lacked the numbers to challenge him. Although, he could not dismiss her completely; no, she was far too valuable to let go. If only he could persuade her to join him, instead of standing against him. There must be some way to draw her in, a road he had not thought of to take? What all did he know about her, disregarding her Muggle life before she started her schooling at Hogwarts? Highly intelligent and logical, if not somewhat emotional at times; she had decoded Severus' potion-riddle at the end of her First year, and then there had been her discovery of the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets in her Second year. She had aided Potter in the rescue of Sirius Black in her Third year, but she had used a Time Turner to achieve the…time turner…Time Turner! Time! According to Snape, she had made a duplicate of her Time Turner in Third year, and kept the original for emergency circumstances, but since her moral code had yet to allow her to meddle with time since – what had Snape told him? She had been modifying the Time Turner…experimenting on it. If he could push her into a situation to use it, if Severus 'tripped' or knocked into her at the right moment…she could be lost in time, in an era He, Lord Voldemort, was still a part of. Snape had said she had only managed to tamper with the Time Turner to achieve a total of fifty years backwards and forwards in time, could Snape even achieve to fool the girl? A Time Turner going back or forward that many years would grow red hot, most likely melt the glass phials that the sands are contained in – it could work. He would need to use his time wisely until then – he would need to send a message back to his younger self, with instructions, to ensure the Mudblood allied herself with him, and not to Dumbledore, the bloody old fool.

Yes, this idea had potential, and as he divulged to Snape what would be required on his part, the dark Potions Master could only grin and nod his head. Lord Voldemort did not need to peek into the mind of Severus Snape to catch a glimmer of what had piqued the man's interest in the plan. The Dark Lord could see by how willing the former Hogwarts Professor was to 'chaperone' the Mudblood in the past. Lord Voldemort did not care how Severus did it, or what the man gained by doing it, just as long as it was done and the Granger girl had a Dark Mark branded on her by the time she was able to return to the present…if she was able to return at all.

"I have one more thing, my Lord," Severus said, handing over a simple, unmarked letter on basic parchment. "Miss Granger asked me to bring this to you…"

The Dark Lord took the proffered letter, opened it, and then read it. It took a few short seconds for his eyes to take in every word, but his red gaze kept returning to the way the Mudblood had addressed him:

_Dear Tom Riddle…_

"THAT MUDBLOOD WILL BE WITH YOU WHEN YOU ARE NEXT SUMMONED!" bellowed Voldemort, destroying the room in his fury as Severus Snape fled the room before his Master's wand pointed directly at him.

* * *

…_Jean-Paul Grenier, Pureblood wizard, married to Marie DeLacour, Veela and Seelie Fey hybrid (no wizarding contamination in twelve-hundred __years). Three offspring born from union, one male heir, two twin females; Louis Grenier, Miranda and Adorabella Grenier. Grenier lineages have produced one Squib birth since 1589. Squib born, Philippe Grenier – adopted into Muggle family in England upon s__howing no signs of magical gift upon age 3. Ancestral Muggle familial name not given, Philippe Grenier name changed to Philip Granger. Granger line produced non-magical children until September 19, 1979 by union of Wendell and Monica Granger, Hermione Jean__ Granger. (Me)._

_ Hadrov and Fedorov lineages have been inter-marrying since 1942. Hadrov bloodline a mixture of Pureblood wizarding and UnSeelie Fey. Fedorov bloodline: Pure __Veela.__ No wizarding contamination until 1901 – possible marriages into Russian Imp__erial bloodlines – Romanovs. Pureblood wizard / UnSeelie Fey hybrid line beginning with Aleksander Hadrov, born May 1, 1942. Marriage to Lydiya Fedorova (Pure Veela) on August 16, 1962. Two offspring born from union, two females, Lyssandra and Ophelia Hadr__ova; Pureblood wizarding, UnSeelie Fey, Veela hyrbrids._

_ According to Bulgarian Ministry, Department of Magical Marriages and Bethrothals, Lyssandra remains unmarried. As of January 23, 1979, Ophelia Hadrova contracted betrothal and marriage to Louis Grenier, successful and financially beneficial to both Hadrov and Grenier familial bloodlines. Two offspring born of union, twin females, Helena and Hanna Grenier, heiresses to both family lines, titles of nobility in Muggle and Magical worlds in France and Bulgaria. First Seelie / UnSeelie hyrbrids in 2,000 years. First ever Pureblood wizarding / Seelie and UnSeelie / Veela hyrbrid offspring ever recorded in Europe and UK._

_ Several Muggleborn families also related by Squibs born from Malfoy, Yaxley, Lestrange, and Black lines– Lily Evans (Muggleborn), Colin and Denis Creevey, brothers (Muggleborn), Monica Kensington (Muggle, married to Lawrence Granger, produced one magical child)...Will have to research more for Half-blood families (there should be more than substantial numbers of Muggleborn females marrying Half/Pure-blood males)..._

The information filled every page of the journal Hermione had handed over to Severus when he had returned from the private meeting with the Dark Lord. She had not been pleased by what the Professor had told the Dark Lord, and she had unleashed a furious tongue lashing on the wizard, suffocating him close to death by the weight of her power in the room, for his betrayal against her. It had gone against everything she had asked of him – ordered him – but he had still gone, making his allegiance to the Dark Lord complete, in her eyes. She had always known he would stay with Voldemort's movement, since it was the side winning, at the moment. He was a turncoat, toeing the line between the two sides, playing both Dark and Light messenger, until there was a sole victor, and then Severus Snape would ally himself at the last possible moment to save his own neck. It was what Hermione would do, given that she actually had a choice. But she had more to think about than where Snape's morals lay, and she turned back to the present moment, and what had the Professor so astonished.

Her findings had been extraordinary. Not only had she traced her own lineage to the Greniers, but she had also traced several other Muggleborn lines to the Greniers from marriages of daughters from the renamed Granger line. An entire book of family trees based from one Squib born in 1589, and several other Squib lines from most of the prominent Pureblood families of the present day. What she had uncovered would become the basis of where Muggleborn children came from, and it would help discover the exact genetic code where the magical core hid in each magical being's body. Her research was flawless, well detailed and documented, with magical and Muggle birth records to back the information fully. More importantly, it provided the well-needed basis for Hermione to be able to discredit Pureblood supremacy values, which would wipe the sneers off of the Malfoy, Lestrange, and every other Pureblood, face that had ever called Hermione Granger, a 'mudblood.' The notion of being able to shove these discoveries into Lucius Malfoy's obnoxious face was well worth the weeks spent bent over a table researching until the bones in her fingers screamed for relief.

"Don't you see, Miss Granger?" the Professor waved the journal above wildly in his hand, "You've just proven that Pureblood families intermarrying created the Muggleborn gene!"

"No one would accept that notion!" Hermione protested, "To Purebloods, like the Malfoys and the Lestranges, the family Squibs were killed by the age of three – no one looked into the fact that the graves were empty, or that the non-magical children were dumped at orphanages waiting to be adopted! They will never accept this theory because wizards don't believe in paper trails!"

"But you have the proof! You have the birth, adoption, _and_ marriage licenses," Snape explained, his glee unable to be contained, even if it sounded like a bored drawl, "_He_ will be most pleased with this work. You are well solidifying your place in his ranks, and you haven't even been brought before him yet! Although you have managed to sign your name at the top of his 'Torture List' regarding whatever you wrote in that letter…"

She looked well put-off and smug, there was no mistaking it. But all of Snape's good intentions by speaking with the Dark Lord regarding her secret experimental ritual had truly ruined her mood. She could not even enjoy the thought of Lord Voldemort throwing a violent tantrum because she had addressed him by his given name. The research had been, at last, completed, the Dark Lord was beating down her door, metaphorically speaking, and she had finally finished uprooting the Lupins and Harry Potter. Creating new identities and backgrounds in the Muggle world were done via her innate gift for computer hacking, as well as memory charms, had gone quite far. All Severus knew was that Harry Potter was relatively happy pretending to be a Muggle, living somewhere in Wales with his girlfriend and her family, working as a primary school guidance counselor.

As the Lupins went, all Hermione said on the matter was that they were quite happy with their new identities while permanently vacationing in the somewhere _very_ warm and south of the Equator. It was secluded, and far enough to keep Remus from attacking anyone during the full moons, but close enough to the Wizarding markets for the family to interact with others in the wizarding community there. _Wherever 'there' is, exactly…_

As for Ronald Weasley, she had been quite candid regarding the man's fate. The Weasley brat was dead, by her own wand, and she had not regretted or showed any form of remorse regarding her former lover's departure from life. She had spared no details, and even though the cold and emotionless story had chilled the Professor down to the bone, he had still remained aroused by the passionate way she had told him. He was certainly twisted, Hermione knew that, but she had not been ready to learn how certain things heated up the Professor's skin in a flush, giving him the nerve to make passes and tease her with the slightest touches, before he withdrew and left whichever room she had been occupying at the time.

Hermione had been residing at Spinner's End for more than a month, and Severus had been quite aware of her presence, even several rooms away. He had taken to watching her through the veil of his hair, or from afar; the grace of her every movement, her poise as she studied book after book from his infinite library and the parchments he had slyly slid into his frock pockets while visiting Grenier Estate during a rather boring political Gala. Hermione had grown from a frizzy, bushy haired encyclopedia into a rather stunning swan, in his opinion. Her intellect at times seemed to surpass his own knowledge and he marveled late in the night, under the sheets of his rather old bed, how her intellect made her prettiness seem so natural. Her curls were still untamed, falling over her shoulders in soft frizzy waves of chestnut. Her skin was pale from time spent inside reading instead of soaking up sunlight, but smooth and flawless, sometimes breaking out into a rather attractive, peachy blush when she caught him staring. He spent many a night falling asleep with a cramp going up his arm from thinking of her far too much.

The New Year and spring had long passed, and the end of October was fast approaching, as well as the date in which Severus was to use Hermione as the final test subject for her ritual, all before the Dark Lord could summon his followers. The Professor was required to bring Hermione forth to the next meeting, she knew that from Snape, but she was still affronted by the Dark Lord's assumptions that _she_ would be present. Maybe if he had asked nicely, or sent chocolates, to sweeten the request, she would have been more than happy to oblige. But to outright state that she _would_ be there, well…that caused quite a spark of defiance and spitefulness in Hermione. She did not like being told what to do, not when she had realized her magical potential, and certainly not when she was basically a free agent, either taking sides, nor stating that she was neutral. The _Dark Lord_ would do better to appease her more if he expected her to consider his offers.

"Miss Granger, what is that solution to the physical to metaphysical ratio?" asked the Professor from across the sitting room. "If Immortality is achieved, yet one's body does not expand to show the results of physical training, then how do you expect to keep the working magic inside the body? It would burst forth, like muscles ripping through a jumper…"

Hermione looked up from her book, curled up by the small fireplace to gain some semblance of warmth in the cold, damp house. She would have rolled her eyes, had she felt that doing something so childish would ruin the credibility of her answer. She merely looked at him with her usual blank stare, "It's all there in the notes, Professor – the magical core would be solidified into the genetic make-up of the blood, which would meld it into the actual body. If I were to sustain a rather fatal looking wound, even I lose half of my blood supply, it is written into the red and white blood cells…it would replicate itself, just like it would replicate and heal the wound."

"Magic cannot regenerate itself-"

"Why not," asked Hermione, setting down her book and preparing for another infamous debate between the Professor and herself over the limits of metaphysics. "It is all right there, in the research. The Nazareth scrolls prove my thesis, the Shang Dynasty wizards wrote down every viable piece of information regarding soul magic, and blood magic, and they succeeded in proving that magic has no limits as long as the intent is there to push the boundaries. An intelligent man, such as you, surely can see that as plain as day! If Jesus of Nazareth can do it, why can't I?"

"It seems simply irresponsible," said Snape. "Those ancient readings were pure theory, no one has ever been able to actually perform those rituals and live!"

"I will!" Hermione snarled, pulling her power around her like a blanket before she lashed out at Snape in a magical/physical sense. "It worked on the Muggles you tested it on, and then on the wizarding subjects! It will work because you will…_will it_ to work! It is all about intention and you will have the intent to make it succeed, or I will die."

"Hmph," was all he supplied her with. He picked up his parchments and ignored her for the rest of the evening. Hermione was quite content with that, since she was fed up with his incessant questioning of her abilities. She had not dug down inside of her and pulled every last bit of power she had been born with just so Potions Masters could question her intelligence.

* * *

It was abnormally sunny day in the middle of November that found Hermione dressed in a simple white nightdress, basking and dancing in the warm sunshine and cool winds flowing through the decayed back yard of his _'ancestral'_ home. It was early afternoon, and after preparing the ritual grounds that morning, Severus Snape was obsessively watching the twenty-four year old woman take in the excitement of the day. Before the end of the day, Hermione Granger would be breaking all rules of magical theory, shattering the boundaries of Light and Dark magic, and be emerging as something unique and utterly indestructible. She would be obtaining Immortality – something the Dark Lord had yet to achieve without use of Horcruxes and damaging his soul beyond repair. It was something unfathomable to Severus. He longed to possess her, grow old with her, and die with her. She was his salvation from Lily, his last chance at happiness. Now she would remain forever young and full of energy, and he would wither and die alone. If he was honest with himself, he would only wish that she would come to her senses, but she was so far gone into the darkness now that fleeting glimpses at the witch she used to be were few and far between. He wished she would see him, truly see him, and just be content with what he had to offer; love.

After he performed the ritual for her that day, she would be pure power and intelligence – a formidable opponent to the Dark Lord. If Severus had it in him to deny her, he would simply botch the ritual before it could kill her, but he was too fond of her by now, too attached. If he could not have her as a moral witch, then perhaps he could have her in all of her immortal glory? He had readily agreed with what the Dark Lord had asked of him, in the hopes of having Hermione all to himself. She would have to rely on him if they were stuck in the past. The timeline was too important to meddle with, especially with such an enormous gap between past and present. Combined, they had the knowledge to keep events from being changed before they returned to their original time.

"Professor, come out here with me!" she called, waving at his presence in the window. "It feels amazing!"

His body tensed at the invitation, but he remained where he stood; inside and watching her from a distance.

Her adventure into the Professor's enclosed back yard that afternoon had been a lift to the nervous weight she had woken up with that morning. Now, as she lay upon a cold stone altar in the middle of an elementally enhanced circle of rite, she felt that telltale thrill of the unknown overtake her. Nude and covered in small Arithmetic carvings to multiply the results by tenfold, Hermione was chilly while she watched the Professor continue the ritual she had been researching for the last two years. She wanted it done with and she wanted to rub it in his face that she was right. It was petty, but she wanted the satisfaction more than she had the desire to spare the man's ego.

At the moment, he was following the altered instructions regarding the soul, moving his wand over her nude form in intricate patterns, as the Shang Dynasty writings had described, and chanting. She could feel the low hum of magic running through her body, readying her for the only part of the ritual she was needed to perform herself. It tingled along her skin, leaving a warmth and dampness between her legs. It felt delicious, mingling with the two aspects of magic inside of her; the Light and the Dark. It reached down inside of her, caressing her inner being, with hot, electrifying awareness, and amplified each aspect before fusing them together in an explosion of power that escaped her body, blanketing the sky above in pure, uncontrolled magic. It lasted several long moments before the magic was called back to its vessel to vibrate through Hermione's body, ready to be set free again.

Time passed slowly, but as the insatiable feelings running through her multiplied due to the Arithmetic equations and solutions carved into her body, which enhanced everything, erupted through her and she found herself far too busy holding back the low moans catching in her throat. By the time the Professor was finished 'setting the stage' for her to sacrifice herself, she was fully aroused and sweating in the cold night air. He placed the vial of muggle toxins, herbs whose sole purpose was to poison, and Hermione took it willingly, downing the contents quickly. Her body burst in tiny fireworks as the poison worked its way through her body, fusing with the soul magic already pulsing through her very core, and she slipped into seeming unconsciousness with a soft sigh.

She knew the Professor was finished when she gulped her first breaths after a shock melted her soul to her bones, to her skin, and to everything else in between, and her back arched to the heavens as she was brought back to life. He had performed the alterations to the blood rites before finishing the ritual, and the carvings in her skin had been healed by her own blood cells. It was a new beginning, and it enthralled her. She had done it – _they_ had done it! The genetic sequences had been converted and imbibed with her magical essence, grounding her magical core in her very blood, tissues, skin and bones; it would be much more difficult to die from then on. She was immortal, her body indestructible, and it would never age. The side effects were pleasant, though most women might think them grave, Hermione reveled in the idea that she would never have to worry about menstrual cycles, nor fear a pregnancy. Ron and his family had been about procreation, but she had always been a major advocate for knowledge. She was not the mothering type, a herder, maybe, but never one to set aside her wants and needs for those of a child. She was frozen in time, forever twenty-four, and just as powerful as the day she had been born.

She had succeeded in breaking the boundaries that a millennia of wizarding beings had been too afraid of doing, and what Lord Voldemort had yet been able to achieve; she was Immortal. She shrieked joyously at the realization of her survival through the war, and the fact that losing her life was irrelevant from then onward. She was one step closer to being completely free of moral bonds…

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Remember November**

**Chapter Three**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I earn profit from writing this story.**

* * *

The weeks passing Hermione's transformation from normal, bookworm to radical liberator of magical boundaries and limits was spent doing an inordinate amount of time consuming activities. Waiting, waiting, waiting for the Dark Lord to summon Snape was extremely beneficial for her. It gave her the time for physical training and dueling with the Professor, reading anything that could be pulled down from the top shelves of Snape's personal library, and adding the finishing touches on her genealogical research regarding the magical and Muggle ancestral lines, and the blurring of said family trees. To Hermione, time seemed boundless. There were no ends in sight. The road before was infinite and full of potential and it was difficult for her to ponder just one new project at a time. Where to start? When to begin? How long would it take? Time was no longer a problem – she had eternity!

During brief moments in between blocking an attack from Snape and sending a defensive spell, Hermione wondered why the Professor seemed to melancholy. Ever since the ritual he had been – for lack of a better phrase – downright nasty to her. Could it have been during the conversation just the other night? He had inquired about what she would do if she found love. Hermione had been befuddled, since love was a mistaken notion. She could not love a person. How could she? She had longed for Ron Weasley for so long, and he had gone off with other witches. It had been a school girl crush, but not love. No, certainly not love. It was all a chemical reaction in the brain; mere hormones and synapses firing off, a pheromone response that fooled the more ignorant into believing they were "in love." But it was not real, it couldn't be. So, Hermione had shrugged it off, giving a logical response to her disbelief in such notions. It was a better explanation than admitting that Ron had left her broken hearted, and she refused to feel such pain again. Instead, she would love books and learning; a book could never break a heart, a person could.

It was the end of November when Hermione noticed the attitude in which the Professor interacted with her. He withdrew from conversations early, but more noticeably he had reverted to the teacher/student dynamic. He became cruel in his remarks to her to the point it was bordering intolerable. How could she possibly understand what his problem was when he refused to tell her? "Intolerable chit." "Insufferable know-it-all." "Muggleborn plague!" Every utterance cut her down, but she declined to rise to his bait. He could be angry at her all he wanted, but his words meant nothing when he asked that she remain at Spinner's End. It was a clue behind the reason why he was so insufferable himself.

He loved her and she could not reciprocate such feelings. It took a few weeks, but she had finally figured it out. While she read late at night when he had gone off to bed, Hermione had attempted to understand the psychology of the incomprehensible Severus Snape. The only logical explanation she could come up with was that the lonely man had assumed she felt the same; that her flirtations through the last five years had been more than just shallow attraction. A man that showed her more attention than Ron ever had, of course she was going to participate in playful banter and simple teasing. Perhaps he had become too attached to her? She knew that he had clung to Harry's mother, Lily; years at Hogwarts, or even before that, pining for her, loving from a distance. Just as he had been doing for the past three years with Hermione – it all seemed plausible. She wished she could return the feelings, redeem him, making him happy, but she could not. It wasn't in her nature any more. She had changed too much, done too much, and she just was not the naïve and carefree witch she used to be. She was cloaked in dark power, it was wrapped around her like fine silk, and she reveled in the fact that it was so warm and cozy here in her new life. No, there was nothing she could do for Severus Snape, other than ignore the fact that he was in a perpetual bad mood.

Yes, the Professor was a good man; there was no denying that. He was intelligent, his personality quite rough, and he was not the best looking of the male species. She remembered the thrill that would run through her during the years spent in the safe-house. He would press against her, slide past her, cop a feel when he could, and she had always enjoyed the feeling. Back then she would have gladly taken him to bed. Nothing would have aroused her more than to shag Severus Snape and force Ron to listen for an entire night – or several nights. But Ron was gone now – she had killed him without a single regret. She could still sleep with the Professor, but she doubted he could satisfy her. Ron never had when they had been together. Any orgasm she achieved had been by her own fingers and she would rather avoid the awkwardness afterwards when Snape failed to fulfill her desires. It was simply not worth it to her at the moment. Maybe in the future, who knew?

Closing _Relative Similarities Between Arithmancy And__ Muggle Mathmetics_, Hermione sat in her dilapidated chair near the small fireplace and listened to the constant creaks of Spinner's End. It was so old and neglected. The floors had been covered in a thick layer of dust since she arrived – since _before _she arrived, actually – and cobwebs linked walls to bookshelves to other walls. The color scheme was dark and depressing with ancient brown paint and old woods. More than once she had questioned whether the house had ever been cleaned in the last ten to twenty years. Probably not, she mused. Still, it was a cold house, cruel and meant for someone of a more…astute personality. Hermione desired a broader color scheme, warmth that translated to more than just a temperature, and just a general sense of "home." She wanted to be at her parents' house. She wanted to lounge on the furniture in the sitting room and bask in the cool light that flooded in through the many windows. Instead she was stuck in Spinner's End, hunted by the Dark Lord's followers with a bounty on her head, with candlelight and dust. She had books, yes, but she needed more than books. It was boring if she wasn't suffering under the Professor's temper. Dueling against him was a testament to how much she still had to learn. Of course, she had absorbed entire libraries in just a few short years, but there was a larger age gap between the Dark Lord and her. He had fifty more years of knowledge and experience over her; and Snape had over twenty years, tops. How was she to compete against those numbers?

There were sudden crashes from under the floorboards, down below in the Professor's personal laboratory. A grunt followed the noises, and before Hermione could turn her head Snape was already throwing the door in the floor open.

"Get up, Miss Granger," the Professor barked, rushing through the "reading room" towards the stairs. "I've been summoned!"

With a sigh, Hermione followed suit. In her room, she pulled out her beaded bag – hidden under a warded floorboard – and rummaged through until she found her periwinkle dress robes from the Yule Ball all those years ago. She laid them out on her small single mattress and transfigured them as best she could with no clear idea of what she was expected to wear. Days ago, the Professor had described vaguely what female Death Eaters wore, but that Hermione would not be expected to wear such apparel since she was not a follower of the Dark Lord. It basically left her with whatever she fancied. Taking conservative, pure-blood society into consideration, Hermione transfigured her periwinkle robes into a lovely silver hue, with undertones of ivory, and transformed the skirt length and design to something more classic. The idea in her head came to life, and Hermione was very proud of the 1950s style dress with matching robes lined in black. The line across her chest would cover just below her collarbone and skim over her skin, just barely on her shoulders. The dress was high-waisted, but flowed out in the time period type, stopping just around her knees. She turned her attention to her shoes and transfigured them to match; silver-satin flats, no heel, with a simple metallic-fabric flower, very small, but it set the tone – the more innocent she appeared, the better. As for her hair, she gave up before she began to try. With a swish of her wand she summoned several bobby-pins and began pulling her bushy hair into a tight bun at the base of her neck. She applied a temporary Sticking Charm to the pins and hoped that her hair would surrender to magic for the night, but she would not hold her breath. Her hair had a mind of its own at times, and she had never cared enough to find more permanent solutions to frizz and untamable volume. The finishing touch was her altered Time Turner tucked securely underneath the front of her dress, trapped between her scarred breasts.

Descending the stairs, she pulled her simple black cloak over her shoulders and threw the hood up to hide her identity. She took the Professor's arm at the bottom of the stairs and allowed him to escort her from the house into the backyard. He pulled her along through the squeezing sensation of Disapparition and disentangled himself of her upon arrival at the destination. The Professor strode away from her and she followed as she took in her surroundings. It was dark, just after twilight, but the stars were crystal clear in the sky above. The air was cold and crisp on the hilltop they had appeared on, and there was a breeze flowing around her, down the dip and into the cluster of trees at the base of the hill. Her cloak and skirt flapped around her knees while she held tight onto her hood as she looked back up to the sky. It looked exactly the same as the night she let go of mortality. She regretted losing the ability to grow old, to experience certain milestones that the Professor and her schoolmates would in years to come. Deep down, if there had been a way to imbibe her body with the strength to push through a duel practically unscathed, without the immortality that came with it, she would have been far happier with the result. As it were, she could only look at the positives and take comfort in the thought that she understood the only way to end her life without proficient difficulty.

The eccentric thrum of magic in the air was hostile and ever reaching, searching for something but never finding whatever was looking for. It reacted to her own flowing magic in a pleasurable tango, attempting to pull it further from her. It beckoned to her, called her forth, but she pulled her tentative tendrils back to her and created an aura of goodness around her to cloak the Dark Lord's menacing feelers hovering in the air. She followed the path that Snape had taken, and proceeded through the path that the Professor had taken. Down to the edge of the forest, she sent a small ball of Blue Bell Flames up ahead of her, before she pulled in her magic and closed off her mind completely. She only had to focus on the flames providing her light, keeping her clothes from catching on any of the branches and brush of the woods, and where the Dark Lord's magic was leading her.

It was curious to Hermione how familiar Lord Voldemort's power felt to her. It was blackness enveloped in an enticing aroma and vibrating sensation along her skin – like the most luxurious linens against naked skin. The weight of the Dark Lord's magic intoxicated her, drawing her closer to him. The waves of magic he had sent into the air caressed her body in an attempt to draw out her magic again, but she kept it locked inside of her for the moment. No need to mingle now when there was plenty of time for that later.

Traipsing through the forest, Hermione found herself stepping into a secluded clearing where hooded figures in black stood, facing their Master, their backs turned to her. She knew that for ceremony's sake the Death Eaters were all wearing the required silver masks, the Inner Circle wearing the more elaborate of workmanship. It was a symbol of worth in the Dark Lord's ranks: the Inner Circle held more information, received more of the glory, were handed the more intricate of facial disguises, while the lower ranks were given simple, silver masks shaped like skulls. It seemed contradictory that the Inner Circle received more of the punishment during the Dark Lord's venting sessions, but who was she to question the dynamic of a megalomaniac's cult?

If there were signs of perfect timing, Hermione did not notice as she extinguished her Blue Bell Flames and unleashed the power she held inside of her. It flowed gracefully in a mixture of tri-hued wisps, tendrils in the air reaching as far as she allowed them to go. Her magic was feminine, soft and supple, but it was also suffocating like a heavy perfume. It clogged the senses of the Dark Lord's followers, choking them with its might, and merely caressing Voldemort at the front of the assembly. The serpentine wizard laughed a bitter, cold laugh – almost a sequence of hissing – at her display. His followers fell to their knees, save for one; she allowed the Professor to remain standing, but she still let one small tendril of her power wrap itself around his throat and clench, just a little. It was the smallest form of revenge that she could take out on him while living under his roof. It would not do if she was tossed out like garbage and left to her own devices. She still needed him, and the few rare tomes in his personal library.

She moved gracefully through the flanks of Death Eaters. There was no need to fear or flinch away from them, since they were too busy attempting to breathe with the taste of her magic blocking their airways. They cringed as she passed; her power heavier closer to her body. She smirked, '_At least they know their place now…Filthy Mudb__lood, indeed…'_

When she stood before the Dark Lord, she stared at him with no emotion left in her warm brown eyes – not that he could see her clearly, of course. He laughed again, but no one spoke. A pregnant pause settled on the clearing and the magic in the space in between and surrounding the two dark beings increased tenfold. His power crashed against hers and vice versa. The utter black of his magic seeped around and through hers, while the glittering tendrils of feminine black, white and gray caressed his in the most intimate of ways. It sent a shiver down her spine and a soft sigh escaped her lips. His magic was blazing hot, electrifying and evil to the core. Hers was subtle, alluring and enchantingly deceitful. She felt the overwhelming call from his magic but she fought to stay where she stood. She was a Gryffindor and she would not show fear in the face of Lord Voldemort, no matter how dangerous he was and how volatile his temper could be.

The power – oooh, the power… The Professor did not have a fraction of the magical prowess that Voldemort was exuding – and he was holding back! How intriguing. She was not holding back, but then again, she still had room to grow. Eternity to learn and master her own abilities; and it seemed the he had not reached the peak of his magical magnitude, yet. He was forever shaping himself, creating stronger extensions of his own power through…something. Something unknown, something completely different than what Hermione had done to her own self, and she wanted to know what he had achieved; what he had done – she wanted to know what he knew. But that all came with a price, and she was uncertain if she desired the knowledge he had enough to shackle herself to him through servitude. No, she was free from the servitude of Right and Wrong, Light and Dark – she wasn't going to sign up for another form of slavery once she had tasted the freedom of doing what she pleased. Not any time soon. She was no Severus Snape.

"The _Mudblood_ has arrived," said Voldemort, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "You are…quite feisty Hermione Granger."

She lowered her hood and nodded her head, "I could say the same of you, sir."

"So very polite for one so young. You seemed to have forgotten such manners when addressing me via written word," he poised. His magic contracted around her limbs, seeping into her muscles and urging her to step closer. She did. "You understand the reason you were called here tonight, Mudblood? You have offended Lord Voldemort, and I do not allow _inferior_ beings to walk freely for such heinous acts."

"Hmm," Hermione mused while blocking the seductive notion of the Dark Lord's magic groping her skin. "I would beg to differ regarding my status as an 'inferior being.' I am far more superior then your _hounds_."

There was an edge to her tone that cut through the background noise of gasping followers. She kicked out her leg towards the nearest Death Eater, struggling on his knees, and knocked the masked wizard onto his front with his face in the freshly fallen snow. With that simple act, she withdrew her blanket of magic back into herself and allowed the Dark Lord's minions to breathe. The only masked wizard unaffected had been Snape, and Voldemort certainly took notice of that fact – and with a vehement glint in his crimson eyes. It was certainly unsettling. Not to Hermione, per say, but she could assume that Snape was not enjoying the scrutiny in which his Master glared at him.

Suddenly the Dark Lord's magic around her disappeared. He drew it back from her and focused his gaze on Snape while his followers clambered back to their feet. There was a grumbling working its way through the Death Eater ranks. Hermione was sure that many hands and fingers were twitching towards their owners' wands. Luckily for her, they seemed to obey their Master well – a trait tortured into them from years at the end of the Dark Lord's wand. She wondered how high the number of Cruciatus Curses each one of them had been put under over the years. And for how long during each session of punishment. Not for very long, most likely. The Dark Lord could not afford to drive anymore of his followers insane. Bellatrix had proved to be a liability, and Hermione was certain Voldemort was hesitant to allow another just like Lestrange into his ranks. She had been a loose cannon – reverting back to a child-like state after all that time in Azkaban. No, Hermione was quite sure that Lord Voldemort had become more aware of the potential fiascos involved with recruiting less than stable minions.

"So," the Dark Lord finally spoke, "Severus has a new Mudblood _pet_…"

Was that…jealousy in his tone? Hermione was confused by the statement, and extremely furious. She hissed, "_I am no one's pet!_"

"Your blatant favoritism towards Severus proves that there is some form of relationship between-"

"There is NO relationship of any form other than a professional partnership, Voldemort." She just cut off the Dark Lord! Did she really interrupt the most feared wizard of all time? She had spent too much time around Ron's temper during the last decade. To object while the Dark Lord spoke, she had to be losing her mind! She had come with the understanding that she would be tortured for her minor indiscretion, but now she was digging herself a much larger hole.

His eyes glowed maliciously, "You would do well to hold your tongue and take your punishment, Mudblood!"

"Then I would suggest that you stop with the interrogation on Snape and," she made quotation marks in the air to stress the sarcasm in her tone, "'_punish'_ me!"

"CRUCIO!"

The familiar pain acutely related to the Cruciatus Curse raced through her nerve endings instantly. It was stronger than Bellatrix's by leaps and bounds and Hermione fell to her knees with a groan of pain. She clenched her jaw and dug her fingers into the snow underneath her in an attempt to not scream. It was excruciating and she wanted it to stop. Her training with the Professor had included the Cruciatus, but no one could come close to the almost lethal vengeance behind the Dark Lord's curse. He put so much anger behind it that Hermione wondered what had happened in his life to create such volcanic rage in a person. Every fiber of her being was overloaded with pain. Her eyes were pressed tightly closed, her ears roared with the Death Eaters' laughter and her muscles tensed to the point she was certain they would snap her bones. She kept her jaw clenched, groaning long and loud as the curse continued without break. It felt like an eternity. When would it end? Sweat began to bead across her forehead and she felt feverish, but the Dark Lord was relentless. She could not possibly have offended him this badly, could she? It was his name, for Merlin's sake! A little teasing banter before she proceeded with a light explanation as to _why_ he had to wait another month before she handed over the Nazareth scrolls. What had it been? Not less than ten minutes, at least, that she had been under the Cruciatus.

At last, Voldemort lifted the curse and glared down at her. He was obviously angry due to her lack of screaming. According to the Professor, the Dark Lord quite enjoyed the sounds of pain drenched screams as he tortured people. She was definitely not giving him the satisfaction. She. Would. Not. Scream. That was for damn sure.

His magic was back, blanketing her in that sizzling electric current that left blazing trails over her skin as it contracted around her. It urged her to stand and she allowed his power to do most of the work for her, taking the little satisfaction that she could get out of such a simple act of defiance. He came close to her and used the tip of his wand to raise her chin. Her eyes locked with his and she felt his attempt at Legilimency crash into her Occlumency shields. Keeping him out only infuriated him more, so she allowed him in. She guided him towards the memories he sought and mentally giggled at his aggravation that she had already gone through with the experiment he had so been hoping to intervene and stop.

He stepped away from her, furious. A tendril of his magic wound itself around her dainty neck and squeezed until she could not breathe. Instead of flailing, her arms hung by her sides, shaking in fear, but she remained calm. Choking could not kill her, and she took solace in that. Apparently her lack of panic to breathe raised his irritation with her. He closed in on her, shoving his wand's tip into her jawline as he seethed, "Why do you defy me when you could benefit from my power, Mudblood? I offer you amnesty and yet you mock me! If you served me you would be rewarded!"

"I…serve…no…one," gasped Hermione.

"Then you oppose me!" hissed Voldemort. Oddly his magic unclenched from around her throat and allowed her to draw a proper breath. He glared at her and she returned the look with the same heat.

"I do not oppose you," she spat, rubbing her throat with trembling fingers. Even if she could not die easily did not mean she was not scared of what he could do to her in the meantime. He was still Lord Voldemort and his violence had always frightened her. "I just decline to serve you…I just want freedom to do as I please without your **lap****dogs** yapping at my heels."

"I can only assume that Severus would prefer the same freedom with you?" snarled Voldemort, raking his nails across her bare shoulder. It elicited a shudder from Hermione. Her eyes fluttered shut and she sighed softly at the sensation of nails digging into her skin, unable to break the surface, while Voldemort's magic flared around her. "I have seen what he desires; a little mudblood to _love_ him…as if it will redeem him in some way. He would gladly turn his back on me for one night with you, Hermione Granger."

The hate in his eyes as he snarled the confession into her face chilled her feverish body. It gave her to opportunity to steel her nerves and squash the fluttering in her abdomen. The Dark Lord had not told her what she already knew, but it unnerved her to learn the extent of Snape's pining for her. The Professor was a decent man, but she was too hesitant to dive into those waters. She still needed him around, but not at the risk of killing what little dignity was left in him. She wished desperately that the relationship between them could have remained platonic. She regretted ever returning the flirtations he had flattered her with for so many years. She may not love him like he did her, but she did feel strongly for him, like she had for Harry all those years ago. Like a friend. She wouldn't know what to do without the Professor in her life - he had become such a fixture in her every day routine by now. It pained her to say it, but it had to be done.

"Severus Snape returned to you of his own free will," said Hermione, eyes still closed. "The Dark Mark on his arm is non-negotiable…and he will remain in your ranks as a loyal servant to you. He could never satisfy my needs," she stared pointedly at the Dark Lord, "and neither could you or any other man."

"I would beg to differ, _Mudblood_…filth like you are so easily sated," Voldemort breathed against her cheek. His lipless mouth moving against her skin as his snake-like nostrils took in the scent of her and her magic. The act caused her to tense and he reveled in her insecurity. "But I have come to wonder just how valuable Severus is to you…"

He stepped away from her abruptly, withdrawing his magical aura from her. The Dark Lord motioned for the Potions Master to step forward, and the wizard did as his Master commanded. Hermione watched with repentant eyes as her worst nightmare played out before her. The Professor stood in front of her and knelt before Voldemort, just as he was expected to do; head bent towards the ground, averting eye contact. Hermione had seen the pain in the professor's eyes through the slits in his mask as he passed and her heart dropped. She hadn't meant to destroy his hope, but there was nothing she could do regarding her feelings for him. Fear froze her to the spot where she stood as the Dark Lord raised his wand and uttered the most fatal of curses. It left the tip of the yew wand with a fierceness that chilled Hermione to the bone.

"NO!" screamed Hermione, reaching out to pull the Professor out the way.

She was too late and she fell to her knees in the cold, harsh snow. Professor Snape lay in the snow, lifeless, as she pulled him to her. She cradled him in her lap and ripped the mask off of his face, brushing his greasy black hair from his forehead. This wasn't how he was supposed to die. He was supposed to destroy the Dark Lord on his own and live the rest of his life out in peace and solitude, just as he had always wanted. A life spent brewing new and revolutionary potions in the calm of his own home until the day he died. It was unfair – life was entirely unfair! The Dark Lord was incredibly unfair! He had no right to kill Snape. There had been no need! The Potions Master was too crucial to his survival – to obtaining his own immortality! And Voldemort had just killed him without a second thought! She cried out in fury, completely livid as the Dark Lord laughed openly at her despair. It was unfathomable to her; life without Snape's cruel remarks, biting retorts, his exciting intellect. There was still so much left for them to accomplish together! She needed more time with him – HE needed more time, period!

No, it was far too early for him to die. He had to live! She _needed_ him to live!

Pulling out the Time Turner she had been altering, Hermione began working the dials as the Death Eaters continued to taunt her. She turned the inner circle a quarter of a turn and pushed the dial back into place. She stood as time reversed around her. Letting go of the Time Turner, it fell and dangled from her neck as time slowed and stopped for several brief seconds. She was invisible to the people around her. She pulled her hood up to hide her face in its shadow as she watched the scene play out much as it had the first time. She saw Snape kneeling in the snow before Voldemort, and she knew that her double behind her was reeling in fear. She had thought the Professor would be tortured for loving a 'mudblood' as he was silently called forward by his Master. She hadn't expected the Dark Lord to kill him. But that was in the past now, it would not happen again. She would not allow it to happen again. She took solace in the fact that at least Hermione would not be recognized by her own self; as long as her hood stayed in place. She only had split seconds to save him, enough time to throw herself in front of the Killing Curse, and that is exactly what she did.

"NO!" her cry echoed through the air as she flung herself in front of Snape. The Killing Curse, emerald green and incredibly bright, impacted directly in her middle…where the Time Turner was hanging. The curse knocked her back into the Professor, making her weak but failing in killing her. Hermione's hand flew out and grabbed hold of the Potions Master's arm, gripping it tightly. The curse exploded the small hourglass in the center of the Time Turner and the circles around it began to spin of their own accord. The glittering beige sand inside the hourglass flew out to encase Hermione and Snape in a globe, glowing in a golden light. The granules sparkled in the darkness, and she could see Voldemort smirking at her through the translucent orb surrounding the Professor and herself.

"What have you done?" she snarled, keeping a vice-like grip on the Professor.

The skin around Voldemort's crimson eyes crinkled more as his smirk turned into a fierce grin, "As Dumbledore always said…it is for the greater good…"

She watched the glowing globe pulsate and the sand beginning to spin in horror. Faster and faster, backwards through time, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She had been altering the Time Turner to go back decades just so she could prove that it could be done. But now Snape and she were being hurled back through eras with no idea where they would end up! There was no halting the time-globe around them. And more importantly, there was no way to get back to their time once the globe ceased spinning!

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**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I am not profiting from the creation or posting of this story.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Remember November**

**Chapter Four**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I do not profit from my stories, in any way.

Author's Note: Plotholes are nasty little buggers, but I am weeding them out, rewriting chapters, and editing paragraphs and so on at the fastest pace I can. I've been very sick the past week, and I'm still lagging, but I'm trying to get these chapters up as quickly as possible. I apologize for the recent deletion of Remember November off of AFF net, but I promise it was the last time. I am writing this story for me, and I am working on my constant need to delete and perfect, delete and perfect. My next story will certainly be fully written and reviewed before I start posting it.

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Her eyes grew wide as the damage was done. The world spun around Hermione and the Professor as they disappeared from sight. The vortex that extreme time travel caused made her nauseas, the daylight and dark of night swirling together while the feeling of being thrown down a rabbit hole made her scream. As suddenly as it had started, in a flash of light, it stopped and the Time-Globe encasing the two travelers deposited them out into the humid warmth of a deserted alleyway. That was highly unusual – they should have appeared in the same clearing that they had traveled through time at. There must have been a reason for the Time Turner's sands to send them to this alley in who-knows-where. Hopefully they hadn't arrived too far into the past. There were so many things that could be changed just by their appearance in an era they were not supposed to be a part of. Dumbledore could turn evil, Harry Potter could be born Harold Snape, the Weasleys could all become Squibs! It was too dangerous to even think of the repercussions. _Horrible things happen to wizards who meddled with time…_

"Umph!" Hermione grunted, falling backwards and on top of a falling Severus Snape. The chain of the Time Turner around their necks was warm, and Hermione pulled it off of them both to hold up the actual tool that had caused this mess. Her heart sunk as she took in the shattered and cracked cylinders, the red hot glowing rings, and the melted dials. It was ruined. There was no fixing a Time Turner, it had to be replaced; and the next Time Turner that she could nick from the Ministry wouldn't be ready for another thirty to forty years, all because she had to save Snape. But she would do it again if it meant keeping him from an early death. No, it was Voldemort's fault. He had executed the Potions Master right in front of her, to test her _feelings_ for the man. The Dark Lord had wanted to see how far gone she was – how much darkness had consumed her. Bully for him, but Hermione still had a conscience even if her temper lashed out violently and stated otherwise. She still had some humanity left, and she still cared for the Professor in the only way that she could; she saved him. He was her friend, and she had saved him. It was the least she could do, the only thing she could do. She may not love him, but she cared enough to keep him alive.

She rolled off of the Professor, brushing her knees off as she stood; making sure to hold the burning Time Turner away from her. She would need to transfigure something into a protective box to hold it in. She couldn't afford to leave it in a bin for someone to walk by and pick it up. There were certain things in the timeline that she couldn't change, and she already doubted the idea of allowing the Dark Lord to live past the day – if he was even born yet. Merlin, there were so many things that could go wrong by just being in the past! What if the Dark Lord took the Ministry sooner than in the original timeline? What if Muggleborn Registration was required – she would be killed before she ever found out she was a witch! She would disappear the minute her birthdate rolled around! She would need to talk to Snape about it, weigh the pros and cons, but first...they had to figure out how far back they had gone. If they were lucky, they had only gone back only a few years instead of several decades. One could cross their fingers and hope, right?

"Get off the ground, Professor," Hermione quipped, throwing her hood back over her head, "We have a copy of the Daily Prophet to locate..."

She didn't wait for him as he moved to stand from the ground. He left his hood down as he followed her down the narrow streets of the Alley and into the bright sunlight of Diagon. The streets of the shopping district were packed with busy morning bodies getting lunch hour errands checked off their 'to do' lists before their return to work. Hermione glanced back to see Snape throw his hood over his head and step out from the shadows of Knockturn Alley. Thank Merlin! They hadn't ended up in some far away country – they had landed in familiar territory! A small portion of her tension seemed to be released at that realization. It was a small comfort in an already horrible situation.

Snape reached out and grabbed her arm, taking over as guide and pulling her sideways in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione grumbled under her breath, having already started that way to begin with. There were always garbage bins out back of the Leaky, next to the portal to Diagon Alley; there were bound to be a few tossed out Prophets from that morning. Great minds think alike and all that, but Hermione didn't enjoy being manhandled and pulled through the thick noon-time crowd by the surly Potions Master. If she had an option, she would have followed behind him, but of course, he didn't want to lose her in the crowds. He was thinking several steps ahead, which meant he was probably thinking along the lines she was; lose sight and disappear in the hustle and bustle. At that moment they could not risk being separated. She was pretty sure her day would not be improving. It could only go downhill from there.

The portal from Diagon to the Leaky Cauldron opened for them, and as they became sealed in to the small back area behind the tavern, Snape and Hermione lunged for the bins before anyone came through to enter or exit. Hermione was victorious, "Yes!" She un-crumpled the papers - a job in the classifieds catching her eye for a brief moment - and smoothed out the front, the breath she had been holding releasing in an exasperated noise, "This says...the 15th of August in 1944 -"

"Mine says the same," Snape drawled, folding up the paper and tossing it back into the bin; Hermione followed suit, "I would still prefer to ask someone what the date is, just to be safe."

"We can't just ask people what the date is," Hermione growled, "It would look strange, and we're already outcasts to this time-"

"Then how are we supposed to be sure? What happened during the meeting with the Dark Lord?" Snape hissed lowly, his face inches from hers. The close proximity made her nervous, but she wasn't going to allow him to intimidate her. Not when there were so many things to figure out. He had to be very confused, but she didn't have the time to answer his questions. Hermione stood there, arms folded over her chest, staring at him blankly. It was fortunate for them that a wizard, Ministry it had looked like, exited the Leaky and tossed a Prophet into the bin before Disapparating. Hermione snatched it before Snape could, opening it and checking the date: 15th August 1944. She checked every page, just to make sure, and when she was done, she threw the paper away, lifted her hood, and looked at him.

She was enraged, but she hid it well. The explosion was coming, but she would make sure it was out of the line of sight of any witnesses. She offered her arm, knowing that he would be grabbing onto it any moment, neither of them made an attempt at conversation as they entered the Wizarding tavern. Looking around at the over-capacity lunch crowd, they left through the front and out into the streets of Muggle London. Hermione noticed quite a few double takes from several Muggles as the two pushed through the street in search of an empty alleyway, anything deserted and away from prying ears would do. It took a few blocks until they found an alley where homeless people weren't congregated. A couple Notice Me Not spells and Silencing Charms, and they were free to speak. It was lucky for Hermione that no one noticed or heard her, because her anger had just reached boiling point.

"The Dark Lord killed you! That's what happened!" She seethed, shoving him against the brick wall behind him. She could care less if she injured him and she needed to vent on something. "I turned back Time and saved you! I took that Killing Curse because you're too valuable to die so early! It struck the Time Turner dead on, Professor – the entire hourglass shattered…we…we were surrounded by sand granules and glass shards, and then we landed here…in 1944. I don't even understand that! The farthest back the Turner should have gone is 1955!"

"Why would you jump between the Dark Lord and me, Miss Granger? You made it abundantly clear that you hold no deep or profound feelings towards me! Why not just allow me a peaceful death?" snarled Snape in return. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, and she could tell that he was restraining himself quite admirably.

She scoffed, "You have no right! I may not return your romantic feelings, but I do care!" She poked him in the chest, trying to hold back from punching him like she had Malfoy in her third year, "As it is, we are stuck here. There is no going forward in time, there is only backwards! No one has been able to travel to the future – it can't be done! So stuff your bad attitude down and suck it up for the moment. We need to figure out what to do!"

"Well excuse me, Miss Granger, but I am not used to the ways of time travel – nor am I to be spoken to in such a tone! According to you, I died, so pardon my 'bad attitude', but I feel as though I should be angry that YOU caused my death in the first place! I should have never gotten involved with you! You and your little friends have brought nothing but misery to my life since you walked into Hogwarts over ten years ago!"

She remained silent. Her back turned to the Professor she rubbed her face with her hands and groaned. Again…there were too many things that could be affected, and she was still so conflicted. Snape didn't understand, he knew next to nothing regarding time; past, present, or future. Yes, time could be changed without the world shattering, the earth imploding on its self, but it required a sagacious analysis of events as they happened and a thorough knowledge of everything that had happened by everyone in the era. What if they changed too much? What if they were trapped in a time loop? What if they caused Harry to fail and Voldemort to rise to victory sooner than expected?

There was also the problematic fact that they weren't of that period in time, they were from the future. They had no forms of identification, no birth records, no OWL or NEWT scores – Birth records, it dawned on her. Birth records – identities! It was a start. If they had to remain in the past, they had to assimilate into the past! Of course! Why had it taken her so long to think of it? Oh, right...Snape.

In an agile motion, she pulled her wand from her cleavage and whipped it around at the Professor. A silent spell was sent, hitting him square in the chest, "I'm sorry, but we need to go to St. Mungo's..."

The spell took a minute, but it finally began to work as she threw a few more different curses and hexes at him. His heart would have already begun to constrict in his chest, cuts appeared across his stomach and arms, ripping the fabric of his robes and frock jacket. Bruises from a broken nose bridged between both eyes, and with a hand through his greasy hair, she mussed it enough to look as though he had been taken by surprise. One last spell and the finish touch was added, an oozing, swollen eye and his jaw was broken; minor things. It would be fixed within an hour and he would be sent on his way. He would hold this grudge against her, but she could care less in light of what she had to accomplish in such a small window of time.

Grabbing his arm securely, Hermione turned on the spot and Side-Along'ed him with her.

The waiting room of St. Mungo's was moderately busy, not chaotic, but not empty and quiet, either. Her face melted into a look of horror and worry as she yelled for someone to help the man with her. "I found him in an alleyway! I was going to Apparate home, and he was curled up on the ground next to the garbage bins!"

It worked like a charm. He was surrounded by Healers and Medi-Witches, a stretcher was conjured, and he disappeared through the swinging double doors leading down the Emergency Ward. She wasn't going to lie to herself – she had quite enjoyed throwing those hexes at Snape. It felt as though some of her anger had been lifted, a weight picked up off her shoulders.

After a quick word with the witch at the Receiving Desk about staying and waiting to see if the man would be okay – 'Does he have any relatives that I could contact?' - Hermione slipped into the loo and washed the blood off of her hands. She placed a Disillusionment Charm on herself, once her nails were clean of any blood or dirt, and waited for someone to enter the restroom. She contemplated, after standing in a corner by the sink, invisible to the untrained eye for twelve minutes, how conspicuous it would be for a loo door to swing open on its own? Luck be on her side at that moment, as a tall, willowy witch and her two young children entered the public loo, giving Hermione enough time to slide against the wall, avoiding bumping into the three year old boy nearest her, and slipping through the closing door with a quiet sigh of relief.

Instead of the double doors that lead to the Emergency Ward, Hermione took another direction, leading to the stairwells. Down three levels and two rights down a corridor, she found herself standing at the room she needed. A softly muttered spell let her know the file room was empty, and she slipped inside without anyone the wiser. Silencing Charms and wards were placed, and she looked around. It was a small office space, each wall must have been only nine feet in length, and the room itself felt cramped. Three large filing cabinets, with three drawers each, lined the wall behind the desk, and the desk, itself, was covered in towering piles of parchments and charts.

At the top of her list was finding the tools she would need. She stepped up to the desk and started opening drawers. Holy...How many quills does this clerk need? A whole drawer of them is rather a ridiculous waste of space! Hermione thought, closing the first two drawers she had rummaged through when she saw they contained a few blank parchments and a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. The third drawer contained an inordinate amount of quills and lines upon lines of ink wells in varying colors. Pulling out two quills and two ink wells, one in black ink and one in red, she set them up on the only portion of clean, open desk there was. Searching for files was the next step, and she prayed for an uncomplicated filing system.

She was sure that the filing cabinets behind her would hold files on every witch and wizard born since the Ministry of Magic had been established in the 1700s. There were no actual Departments for that at the Ministry in her own time, she figured it hadn't changed since St. Mungo's had been established long before actual Magical governments had replaced the Warlock's Council, which meant that all documents regarding living and deceased magical citizens, including immigrants, would automatically duplicate themselves and just appear in a small filing cabinet in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Birth, educational, health, and deceased records would all be bound together and filed away in the hospital, which meant she would have her pick of dead young mothers and stillborn infants.

Searching the filing cabinets had been simple – Hermione had almost leaped with joy at the manageable code system – with extensive charms on each drawer to hold an infinite number of files, three drawers to each filing cabinet, all labeled according to status; Living, Deceased, and Foreign Citizens. It was an easy filing system, and Hermione was thankful for the simplicity of it. She looked through the Deceased drawer, counting backwards from the present year to seventeen years prior, pulling files and skimming through them to the Death Certificates until she found two female charts that she could use; the first file, an eighteen year old young woman, unwed, passed on during childbirth, father unknown; and the second, a baby girl born the same date as the deceased mother had given birth, unnamed and stillborn. Setting them on the desk, Hermione returned to the filing cabinet and pulled a chart for a deceased male, age 32, deceased in 1941 during the German air raid. She was sure Snape could pass as a 34 year old - he hadn't aged much since her first year at Hogwarts.

She dumped the files on the desk, took a seat, and began duplicating the files. With the originals back in the cabinets, she began the grueling process of magically erasing certain information from the Birth Certificates and forging the Healer's handwriting. In the necessary red ink on the Birth records, Hermione added the deceased woman's name, her own name, and the delivery Medi-witch's signature; after a small alteration so Allegra Halding became Allie Granger, and the next of kin, a sister, now Anne Granger, became the legal guardian of a bouncing baby girl, Hermione Jean Granger.

Fishing out the file of Allegra Halding's sister, duplicating it, and changing the information in the copy was easy enough, and as Hermione continued reading through to make sure there were no holes left, she could turn to the stillborn record again. The Death Certificate was easy enough to alter; instead of stillborn female fetus in the space for the name, Hermione replaced it with Anne Granger; and the date of death to 22nd of June 1938, poor Auntie Anne had committed suicide via poison. It was simple enough, and there wouldn't be an autopsy report. It was a clean way to go for a fictitious Aunt, and the sympathy card could be played if Hermione felt it was needed.

Schooling records were the most difficult, but with home-schooling records copied from a Living file on a witch with excellent O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. results, Hermione was almost half of the way finished. Unfortunately, the chicken scratch of the examiners had Hermione gritting her teeth in frustration as she carefully mimicked the quick slash of the pointed quill against the parchment to ink in her own name and the correct dates that she would have taken them. After a time, she had a stack of parchments to secure her a position at Hogwarts. She couldn't pass for older than 25 years old, nor could she convince anyone that she was an underage home-schooled witch who just lost her last remaining relative; never knowing her own father. Besides, she knew more now then Hogwarts could have ever taught her in her own lifetime – she doubted that the forties could have provided information in school that she had not already possessed after skipping her seventh year. No, posing as her correct age and applying for an apprenticeship under the Hogwarts's Medi-Witch was her best option. Snape and she needed identities, money – they needed shelter. Hogwarts was their best option, besides…Dumbledore was alive in this time. It was, truly, the best approach to their strange situation.

Once her story was complete, Hermione opened the file of the deceased male. The Death Certificate was wiped blank and burned, the ashes banished, while Hermione skimmed through, her photographic memory working overtime as she changed the name and dates. School records from a British citizen that had attended Durmstrang, instead of Hogwarts, were altered, a resume built upon from the student's high achievements and apprenticeships over the years, and letters of recommendation were changed to suit Hermione's purpose. It was brilliant work, some of her best, as she created files of Snape's deceased parents to cover any gaps or holes. A few Memory Charms on the right people and Snape would have confirmation that he had taught at Beauxbatons for the last seven years, specializing in Defence Against the Dark Arts and Potions; in case his previous employment was ever called into question. Though, Hermione highly doubted that Armando Dippet was as thorough in his hiring of teachers. From what she had heard and read about the Headmaster, he seemed to be quite lax.

At last, she was done. She filed the fictitious charts back in the correct drawers, after copying all six of them and placing them in the pocket with the Expansion charm on it. She was at the forty-five minute mark, and still had swift work to do if she was going to get those Memory Charms placed before Snape was released from St. Mungo's.

Her Disillusionment Charm was still in place, and with the names of the individuals needing a little 'memory modification', Hermione set out down the halls, keeping out of the way of chatting administrators and rushing Healers. She controlled her breathing, focused on the names of the Healers, Ward Directors and Hospital Board Governers until she found the ones on her mental list. Office after office, Hermione slipped in unnoticed, raised her wand, and added the memories that she needed to make her story work. Soon there were twenty odd witches and wizards running and working for St. Mung's with enthusiastic memories of Hermione Granger and her blossoming brilliance in the art of Healing.

After slipping back in the waiting room near the Emergency Ward, Hermione kept the Disillusionment Charm on, and waited in the shadow of a large, wiggling plant that looked strangely like a moving rubber tree. By the time she had returned to St. Mungo's after a few quick Appirations to Beauxbatons, her wrist-watch was reading two minutes left in her hour window. Five minutes passed, and then fifteen; she was beginning to grow impatient when she finally glimpsed Snape coming up the corridor through the narrow pane of glass in the swinging double doors. He looked good as new, his clothes tattered, but those could be repaired with a sharp eye and a steady wand. He walked into the waiting room and surveyed the faces in the chairs, finding her gone. With a stony expression, Hermione watched him go to leave, and she left her hiding place and followed after him.

Down the sidewalk, in Muggle London, she followed him to the nearest Apparation point, grabbed his arm and tugged him behind, yet, another dumpster that day. She canceled the charm rendering her invisible when she had grabbed his arm, but found a wand pointed between her eyes and a seething Professor slamming her against a brick wall, "You have some nerve, Miss Granger!"

Her anger flared again – she was really starting to consider some management for it – and she shoved him away from her, pointing her own wand at him, "If you knew how to forge documents, I would have gladly been the one in a hospital bed while you created new identities for us! Unfortunately, my skin is pretty much impenetrable, and I don't think I could have faked an injury for more than an hour," she pulled the files from her pocket and sat down on a wooden crate, "Six files in forty-five minutes, Professor – do you honestly think you could have created such extensive backgrounds and dead relatives so quickly?"

"Let me see those," he snarled, snatching them from her in a spiteful manner. She sat in silence as he read through every file with a scrutinizing eye, looking over every page of parchment several times before turning to the next, and the next. She knew he wouldn't find any holes, gaps or contradicting stories. Everything was air tight, and with the pouches of gold she had lifted out of a pompous pure-blood's traveling cloak while leaving Beauxbatons, they would have the required minimum balance to open a Gringotts account, which would solidify their places in the Wizarding world, and the era. And Hermione was more than pleased to see Snape speechless as he handed back the files, keeping his own and those of his 'deceased parents.'

Standing, Hermione handed him a purse of Galleons, ignoring the raised eyebrow and suspicious glare he gave her, "I pick-pocketed a donator while leaving Beauxbatons…every member of staff there remembers you and your amazing skill in teaching Potions and Defence – even the Headmistress. I believe it was a stroke of genius on my part – it's not like the fool needed three pouches of gold weighing him down. I'm sure he had plenty more where that came from."

"And why, Miss Granger, do I need a purse of at least fifty Galleons?"

She raised her chin with a haughty smirk that did not fit her heart-shaped face, "Because we have a joint-account at Gringotts to open, my dear _fiancé_."

He pocketed the purse and sneered at her, "We will discuss this later…"

He grabbed her hand tightly and Appirated them to Diagon Alley, directly in front of the Leaky Cauldron in London. The walk to Gringotts Bank gave them enough time for Hermione to discuss the cover story, and for Snape to question _why_ they were suddenly engaged in this time period. It was plausible in Hermione's mind, seeing as how they both needed a viable explanation as to why Snape and she were requesting a meeting with the Headmaster of Hogwarts, together. In her mind, walking in together but being completely separate and acting as though neither knew the other would raise too many suspicions. It seemed the perfect solution, easy to excuse and perfectly logical as to why a young woman and relatively "young" man were to be applying for jobs at a school.

"Honestly, Professor," exclaimed Hermione, rubbing the bridge of her nose, "it is an excellent explanation! The Headmaster won't see through it-"

"That is all well and such, Miss Granger," replied Snape in his usual sarcastic drawl. "But may I point out that this is 1944, wherein ladies do not share rooms with their intended until _after_ they are wed. On another matter, what makes you think that I would choose to go along with such a ruse? You, again, have made it abundantly clear that the thought of kissing me, let alone sharing a bed with me, is grotesque to you."

"I never said that, Professor! I merely meant that I," she paused, unable to find the correct terminology to express exactly what she wanted to say, "I…I did not want to attempt a relationship in case things ended…I could not bear you NOT being in my life…you are my only friend…"

Her voice trailed off to a whisper towards the end. It was enough to tug at his heart strings and make him see her reasoning. She could not tell him that loving anyone was impossible for her, not in public. Maybe in a private scenario she could divulge the fact that Ron Weasley had left lasting damage that she had yet to face. But at the moment, it was too painful a thought to shout out in the middle of Diagon Alley. Hopefully he would let the matter drop until she felt comfortable enough to let him down easily. Ignoring the matter had yet to work in her favor. Although, she was sure once he learned what saying they were "engaged" entailed, he would perk up regarding their lie to the staff of Hogwarts.

"Very well," said the Professor in a curt tone. "I will cease with my _bad attitude_, as you so eloquently put it, for the time being, but I will not be strung along because you require me to stay around for personal reasons, Miss Granger."

"An excellent point, Professor," she answered, smirking. "You know, I will be required to _act_ like your fiancé…which means excessive touching and public kissing…I'm sure you would be very agreeable to that, wouldn't you?"

He merely grunted, but she noticed the corner of his mouth fighting to turn upwards in a smirk of his own. At least that placated him enough to act more appropriately and less like a love-sick man about to be wed as they entered the elegant halls of Gringotts. The marble flooring gleamed while natural sunlight shone down from the opulent glass ceiling above. Hermione remained quiet as Snape spoke with a goblin about opening an account. Soon they would be signing documents on their joint account, renting two rooms at the Three Broomsticks and sending off their resumes to Hogwarts for Headmaster Dippet to review. It gave them time to decide on a plan of action, and how to deal with the imminent arrival of Tom Marvolo Riddle at the school come September. The thought of dealing with a perceptive Dark Lord in his youthful years was a worry entirely to its own.

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Remember November**

**Chapter Five**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not receive profit from posting or writing this story. :)**

* * *

_He had finally shrugged off Abraxas Malfoy to take quiet stroll down Knockturn Alley that afternoon. His school supplies had already been pu__rchased through the scholarship that Hogwarts granted him, being an orphan and all, and he had impassively accepted to spend the rest of the afternoon with the blond pure-blood on a whim. The two schoolboys had passed the entrance to the dark alley shoppin__g district more than hour prior, but Tom had suddenly felt the inexplicable urge that he needed a peaceful walk down that way. He could not explain the desire, even to himself, but he trusted his intuition more than he trusted any of his Knights. There was__ something that would happen, something he needed to see in Knockturn, and he was not one to deny himself the curious novelty of what he might miss. His legs carried him gracefully down the impoverished, destitute-looking streets and he passed several shop__s of a more notoriously dark history. He caught sight, out of the corner of his eye, several artifacts that were quite rare and unique that he was determined to have in his possession at some point in the near future, but he did not stop to stare. He conti__nued on his stroll and kept his eyes alert for any untoward activity. He was not the greatest wizard of all time for his nonchalant attitude. Lord Voldemort was __**always**__ aware of his surroundings. It proved easier to manipulate environments and situations to__ his benefit. _

_It was near Borgin and Burkes that the young Dark Lord's legs finally began to slow and cease their exercise near the opening of a deserted back-alley. When he saw that nothing was down the cramped alley, he made to turn away, but found that something kept drawing him back. It was as if his legs refused to move. A sense of magic was in the air, it was distinctly feminine; it felt invitingly warm, with seductive undertones, and whoever it happened to be was powerful – extremely powerful. The magical signature was there, in a specific spot in the tiny back-alley, but there was no witch to pin it to. It was empty, but the power called to him, beckoned his own with sweet notions and pleasurable promises. _

_Making to move down to the spot where the magic was calling out to him proved impossible. He was rooted to the spot, in the shadows of an adjacent shop near the entrance to the space and forced to stay and watch air and space. It was infuriating. What magic was this? Who was doing this to him? He demanded that the source of his predicament show itself immediately!_

_There was a glimmer, like gold flakes glittering in a body of clear water. Before it became clear what exactly the huge globe-like…thing…materializing in the middle of the back-alley was,__ there was flash of golden light and two bodies fell to the filthy ground. One made a very noticeable "Umph!" noise as she fell backwards onto the black-clad man. Yes, it was a woman, definitely a woman by the sound of her, but also because __**she**__ was the sou__rce of the irritatingly inviting power that had been beckoning to him for the past ten minutes or so. She made quick movements, and Tom was certain he had been spotted, but she pulled something from around her neck and held it away from her to examine it. __From where he stood, it seemed as though the little trinket hanging from the golden chain was…melting? It radiated a faint red-orange color, as if past the point of merely burning, and the dials connected had turned to a more viable consistency and looked __to be drooping. She rolled off of the man, brushing her knees off as she stood; making sure to hold the burning thing away from her. The witch conjured a small box and placed the necklace inside before shrinking it down and pocketing it. _

_To Tom, the witch seemed to be quite horrified as she took in her surroundings. Apparently she had not expected to appear in a back-alley of Knockturn Alley. 'Curioser and curioser,' mused Tom. _

_When she turned, he could finally see her face. She looked just a few years older than he and wore the most elegant style of dresses he had seen on a witch of her power. 'She must be a pure-blood to be wearing materials superior to the Malfoys,' Tom continued his contemplations. She had a very pretty face – if plain was pretty – and she wore her hair pulled harshly back into a tight bun, but he noted that several frizzy locks had dislodged and fell around her face in a…in a somewhat attractive way. She wasn't a beauty, but she could be pretty if she tried more. It looked as though she had put thought into the clothes, but make-up had been forgotten. _

_Tom remained silent and hidden in the shadows as he watched her pull the hood of her cloak up, barely looking at the stunned wizard on the ground next to her. "Get off the ground, Professor," she said in a quip-like tone. "We have a copy of the Daily Prophet to locate…" _

_She passed without a second glance at Tom, and he was relieved that she had not noticed him, but infuriated as his legs began to pull him down the street a ways behind her. His body urged him forward as her magic called to – coerced him to follow. Did she know he was there? Was she aware that she was empowering his anatomy to work against his will? Was she doing this on purpose? When he had had quite enough of it he found his voice refusing to work. He remained silent, and he was thankful for it eventually as the dark haired wizard – Professor, she had called him Professor – came up from behind him and passed by without looking to see who he was brushing past. _

_Tom followed the odd pair, his legs declining to listen to him; instead they chose to trail after the intoxicating scent of the witch's magic. He felt the desire to reach out and grab her – to make his presence known. But soon the witch and the wizard were lost to him in the overwhelming crowds of Diagon Alley shoppers. They were gone…_

An elbow nudged him in the ribs, pulling him from the reminiscence and back to reality. He controlled the urge to flinch from the sharp pain and turned to look at the perpetrator who dared touch him. It was Abraxas – of course, who else would sit at his right side? He looked around the table with a cold stare at his Knights sitting inconspicuously around him at the Slytherin table. The Great Hall was filled with students, and apparently he had missed the Sorting Hat's ridiculous show _and_ the sorting of first years. Headmaster Dippet was already mid-way through his speech, but Tom's attention was drawn back to the dark-haired wizard sitting next to Dumbledore at the Head table. It was _him_. It was that wizard from Knockturn Alley – the one following behind the witch. What was he doing at Hogwarts? And where was that witch he had been with? What was going on?

"Are you feeling ill, my Lord?" Abraxas leaned in to murmur.

Tom gave a short "no" before turning his attention back to the Headmaster's speech. Maybe he hadn't missed the introduction of the new teacher yet? No, he had, because now Dippet was sitting back down. Drat! Tom turned back to Abraxas with a glare and motioned slyly towards the unknown wizard, "Who is the new professor?"

"Some unheard-of bloke," Malfoy answered. "Professor Snape, the new Defense teacher to aide Professor Merrythought and Professor Slughorn, my Lord. Weren't you listening to Dippet's speech?"

"I have seen him before…is there another addition to the school staff? A witch?" His tone was short and cold as he dismissed Malfoy's obnoxious attempt to pull information out of him. He had been too obvious with his staring at the new teacher, apparently. He would not make that mistake again. Tom Riddle **did not** appreciate being caught off guard. He hissed at the blond pure-blood's hesitation, "Tell me, Abraxas!"

Malfoy flinched at Tom's abrasive tone, but the Head Boy could care less. He wanted information and his knight was severely lacking in the spit-it-out department. "A-an apprentice Medi-Witch to Madam Nettlestone…Ms. Granger, if I recall correctly…"

Tom nodded once and began to help himself to the food as it appeared on the table. He lowered his voice, but icy authority dripped from his words as he spoke, "Use your contacts to find as much as you can about…Professor Snape and _Ms. Granger…_Can you do that, Abraxas – or do I need to order one of my other followers to it in your stead?"

Malfoy shook his head, wide-eyed, "No, my Lord. I will succeed."

"Make sure that you do, Abraxas." With that, Tom returned to eating the food on his plate in silent elegance as he listened in to the conversations his knights were absorbed in around him. He held back a glare and look of disgust at them all. Inferior beings, he thought. They did not even understand that there was something unnatural about the two new additions to the Hogwarts staff. It was of no consequence to them, though, since they had no reason to suspect something strange about the two newcomers. They had not been in Knockturn Alley the day "Professor Snape" and "Ms. Granger" appeared out of a golden, spinning globe – out of thin air. No, his Knights of Walpurgis had nothing to suspect, other than their Master's curiosity regarding the witch and wizard. There _was_ something…odd…about the dark-haired wizard and the witch's arrival, and their subsequent appearance at Hogwarts at the Welcoming Feast. Tom planned to discover their origins, one way or another. At the moment, he would have to patiently wait until Abraxas handed him the information on the pair and then proceed from there. Whichever direction he chose to take after he learned as much as he could about the two strangers, he was completely certain that he would be one step closer to the one question that had puzzled him since he had first felt that teasing waft of power that the witch had exuded: why did it feel so familiar?

It was obvious that he would be seeking out this…Ms. Granger…and having a few words with her. He wondered why he had not felt the call of her magic reaching out through the halls of the school. Unless Knockturn Alley had been a fluke, but Tom highly doubted it. She must not have been controlling her power that day – yes that must be it. She must be hidden in the castle somewhere, most likely the infirmary with Madam Nettlestone, and she was probably restraining her magic. It was what Tom did every single day. He restrained and contained his magic from flowing out and encompassing everything within a twenty mile radius of him. Unless he was angry, that is. It was harder to control the potency and range of his magic when he was displeased about something – mostly something his knights had done, or failed to do. It crackled and sizzled around him like a large fire, dark and overwhelming.

He wondered if the witch was just as dark as he was. Her magic hadn't felt particularly dark, nor had it given off the notion that she was of the "Light," either. It was almost as if there were several characteristics of her magic that entwined with each other and flowed from her in a seductive experience…and it had a _scent_, almost. It was like a pheromone. A chemical reaction in the brain that caused his body to react and assume she was giving off subtle perfume-like smell. It was experiencing a sample of the most delicious delicacy; it had been utterly intoxicating, soft and supple with undertones of warm spices and something that uniquely female – uniquely _her_. He had never known power could be like that and he wanted to know why.

The wizard was drastically different. He was a mystery to the young Dark Lord. He seemed powerful, but then he would drop his guard enough to let go of the reigns, slightly. He was more powerful than he was letting on - holding his magic in so completely that he could be passed over without a second glance back to him. This Professor Snape was…sneaky. Tom would have one or two of his knights keep an eye on the wizard from now on.

The food on the Slytherin table disappeared, and suddenly the students were rising from their seats and filing out of the Great Hall. Tom resigned himself to the fact that he would not be figuring out his conundrum quite as quickly as he would have liked, and exited his seat at the table. Once he was standing his knights followed suit, and as Head Boy he stepped away from his followers to herd the Slytherin first years to their common room. He went through his duties automatically – the guiding first years, the delegation to several Prefects, his orders to his knights – before he could depart for his scheduling patrolling of the corridors on floors two through four, which would put him in the vicinity of the Hospital Wing, he noted with a smirk.

* * *

Hermione was not feeling well. Containing her magic for several hours – it was not a pleasant feeling. It _wanted_ to be released, but as she was in a school filled with students and teachers and _Dumbledore_ she couldn't risk letting her power flow freely. She still had her impromptu tour of the potions cabinets by Madam Nettlestone, the staff meeting, and there was the required patrolling of the corridors that Dippet had shirked onto her, along with Snape, before she could dash up to the Room of Requirement and unleash herself. It was physically painful to her when she held back her magic for longer than a day at the most. She was not used to it, and it did not bode well for the inhabitants of Hogwarts.

At Spinner's End, she could allow her magic to roam freely through the halls and rooms, as long as it remained _within the hous__e._ But in Hogwarts, with Dumbledore around every turn when was there, always eyeing her with a curious twinkle in his eye, she had been forced to hold her magic in completely. It was increasingly difficult to wait until after dinner to slip away to the Room of Requirement with Snape and let her power roam freely. And she was dissatisfied with the amount of dueling and physical training the professor and she had been forced to cut back on. They couldn't very well disappear for hours at a time throughout the day - it would look too suspicious and unseemly for a woman in the 1940s to take off in secret with her "fiancé." So she her hand had been forced, she had to find other ways to ease her affliction. Humming and singing helped, when she was wandering the corridors alone; sneaking into an empty classroom during lunch and unshrinking the piano she had brought with her from Spinner's End – it made her think of things other than her discomfort. Playing the piano with practiced hands drove away the constant need to let her magic out. It simplified the situation around her, but it soothed her more when Snape was around. His presence had come to soothe her in the past few days since they had interviewed and moved into Hogwarts.

Dippet was a lazy Headmaster, she had decided. He had been more than willing to offer them positions after meeting them. Professor Merrythought, a pleasant woman in her mid-fifties, was planning to retire at the end of the school year, and Professor Slughorn, the Potions Master, had been complaining about the constant demand of brewed potions for the infirmary. Slughorn was a lazy man, too. But Hermione had already known that when she first met him in her own time. He was also pompous and walked around with an air of privilege because of his plethora of "connections" in the wizarding world. Horace Slughorn was just as distasteful to her now and he had been during her sixth year. Nothing had changed it seemed.

With Snape's impeccable resume with specialties in Defense and Potions, he had been hired immediately. The Professor would be taking over Merrythought's classes for first through fourth years; and in his free periods would be doing the brewing for the Hospital Wing. At Snape's insistence, Hermione had been granted several free nights throughout the week to assist him in the brewing, "to better help her succeed in her apprenticeship" he had said to the Headmaster and Madam Nettlestone. The Medi-Witch had seemed more than willing to relinquish the reigns to Snape but take the credit when it came to certain aspects of Hermione's apprenticeship. She had an inkling that Nettlestone did not particular appreciate Hermione encroaching upon her domain. But when a soon-to-be-wed couple come calling for jobs at a prestigious wizarding school, one cannot be hired without the other. Or so Hermione made Dippet believe with just a little flex of calming, warm and friendly magic to caress his tired frame. It had been just a fleeting influence and nothing more. Hermione hadn't wished to be caught by Dumbledore – the man had waltzed in just a few seconds later. He had definitely felt the shift in atmosphere in the office, but Hermione had faked ignorance almost as well as Snape regarding that particular matter. Albus had been suspicious ever since.

"Well, Ms. Granger," Madam Nettlestone said with an exasperated sigh. Yep, the woman _definitely_ didn't like her. Or, rather her uncanny ability to correct the medi-witch in the proper way to categorize her potions' cabinet. "That's it for tonight. You may go – I believe the Headmaster assigned you to patrol tonight with your intended?" She waited for Hermione to nod before her stern, thin lips forced a tight smile, "Well then, you wouldn't want to keep him, would you? Go along now. I will see you first thing in the morning to begin the stripping and washing of the infirmary linens. I bid you a good night."

Oh, yay, Hermione grimaced, laundry – I've died and gone to heaven, haven't I? She rolled her eyes when she turned from the retreating back of the medi-witch. The woman was intolerably frigid, Hermione had decided. If she could flex just a tiny tendril towards the woman to make her less uptight, Hermione felt she might actually survive the next two years with the woman. But, what was done was done, and Nettlestone obviously was not going to change anytime soon and Hermione was too cautious about Dumbledore's all-seeing eyes when it came to Hogwarts to attempt something on the old maid.

Leaving the infirmary, Hermione set off to the dungeons to meet Snape for her first lesson in the art of nighttime patrolling. It was confusing to her why Dippet had decided she – and apprentice medi-witch/Healer – would need to patrol corridors like the teaching staff. It wasn't like she could hand out detentions, and she had only been given a limit on how many points she could take away from misbehaving students – a whopping ten point maximum, woo hoo! That'll teach the devious miscreants, she was one-hundred percent certain that a total ten points taken from a student's respective House would definitely teach said student a lesson.

She rolled her eyes and focused on the tune stuck in her head. It had been there all day, but she hadn't complained. Humming it aggravated Nettlestone and it made her temporarily forget about the pain of locking her magic away inside of her for an entire day. Really, it was extremely painful, excruciating. Back to the tune, she wondered if there was anything else she could think of to hum or sing for the night. The Professor had quite enjoyed her singing just the other night, even if she felt affronted in a way because she had not known he had snuck into the Room of Requirement early to watch and listen. It hadn't been the fact that he listened to her sing, it had been the fact that he had not made her aware of his presence. He never let go of his own power around her, therefore she had no magical signature to alert her to the fact that he was near. It was quite frustrating. He said it was no necessary to let it roam free, he had it under control. She did not have such control upon her magic. Keeping it in made her ill, it made her hurt, but she forced herself to find ways to ignore the feeling until she could escape into the sanctuary that only the Come and Go Room could supply her with.

She was only on the fourth floor staircase. It would take her another seven minutes before she met Snape in the dungeons and her body was screaming for release from the torture of holding back her safety net of magic. She was used to letting roam free from her, blanket her in a sense of security and warmth and…dark notions. It felt like she caging herself by caging her ability as to not raise suspicions. She wanted to stamp her foot like a petulant child and do as she pleased. She regretted ever mentioning Hogwarts as an option. She would much prefer to live in a shack in the woods with Snape's bad attitude forever then spend another day in pain because she lacked the practiced control to contain her magic without consequence.

And now her temper was flaring just thinking of it. Darn. Humming just wasn't working at the moment. Maybe she could shirk her duties and hide in the Room of Requirement early this evening? She hung her shoulders in defeat. No, the professor would come and find her before he allowed her to blow off "adult responsibilities" as he had called them, like she was a child who had no idea about responsibilities and ethics and morals. She knew, she understood what came with reaching the age of majority – she wasn't naïve. She just chose to ignore most of what Dumbledore and her parents had instilled in her from a young age. She liked the Dark Arts to that extent – she could choose to ignore the idea of right and wrong and morality codes, doing as she so pleased when she so pleased, and there were hardly any feelings of guilt or consequences. It had been freeing, and now she had to adhere to Hogwarts' rules and regulations, again. It made her feel slightly claustrophobic.

"_When I was younger I saw my daddy cry_," her sweet, lilting voice rang out and echoed through the empty corridors as she stepped off of the staircase and onto the third floor. She walked close to the stone walls, letting her fingers trail behind her along the gritty surface, taking her time to look at the paintings decorating the halls, "_and curse at the wind…He broke his own heart and I watched…as he tried to reassemble it. And my momma swore that she would…never forget..."_

There was someone coming up the hall, a gracefulness to his stride as he slowed. She continued to sing in a quiet voice anyway, just to keep her mind off of the searing ache deep inside. It wasn't a crime to hum and sing in the corridors – at least she wasn't dancing. No, it didn't bother her. Singing soothed her when the Professor was not around. He had that…calming effect about him to her it, at least. Even when he was in a bad mood, just being in the same room as him was quite consoling to her nerves. After spending years of sporadic meetings with him, then constant proximity in Spinner's End and then they had spent entire days in silence while staying at the Three Broomsticks reading together while they waited for Dippet's replies to their resumes, that Snape had become such a fixture in her daily life. Now that she was floors away from him during the day, she found she missed him and his cutting remarks when something irritated him.

"_And that was the day that I promised – I'd never sing of love if it does not exist…" _She wished she could figure out how to unfreeze her cold heart. She wished she could love Snape, sadistic and twisted as he usually was, as deeply as he seemed to lover her, adore her. He was caring and gentle but could become cruel and ruthless as quickly as a light switching on. He was very intelligent and Hermione found that very attractive. He didn't need to be handsome for her – he seemed to be perfect for her – but there was that hesitation inside of her. It was infuriating, because she would like nothing more than to be who he desired her to be. He wanted her just the way she was, but he also secretly wished for her to be less damaged by a "Weasley brat." If she could figure out how to accept the notion of "love" and "adoration" she would, for him. But that was not possible at the moment. She understood lust, even if she had never experienced the amazing wonders of good sex. She was still a virgin, for Merlin's sake! Ron had never made it that far with her before he was blowing his load. She wondered if he was just that inexperienced, or if the thought alone of finally having her was enough to cause him to orgasm prematurely. At any rate, the most Hermione had experienced were fumbling fingers and an attempt at cunnilingus, and neither of those forms of oral sex had done anything for her. Maybe because it had been Ron and it was her body's way of telling her that she didn't want him touching her in those intimate ways? Snape had ignited many a flame in her by just looking at her during meetings; flames of desire that she had extinguished with her own fingers during the late hours of the night, after the wizard had left.

"_Maybe I know somewhere, deep in my soul that love never lasts. And we've got to find other ways to make it alone, or keep a straight face." _She could almost see the face of the person heading towards her. Why didn't Hogwarts have self-sustaining light fixtures again? Surely with a castle full of capable witches and wizards, one of them could have come up with a way to create little balls of light that floated in lanterns along the walls – or floating candles at night. Why did the corridors have to be cast in complete and utter darkness? "_And I've always lived like this; keeping a comfortable distance…And up until now I've sworn to myself that I'm content with loneliness…"_ It was a student; male, most likely a seventh year by his height and almost adult appearance. He had a Head badge shining on the breast of his school robes, his wand lit as he patrolled the third floor. He had pale skin – smooth skin, flawless and unblemished – with dark eyes that burned in the dim light his wand was casting through the corridor around him. If it had been daylight, she could have been able to tell if he had black hair or if it was dark brown and only appeared black because it was almost a quarter to ten. "_Because none of it was ever worth the risk…" _

He was quite handsome – breathtakingly beautiful for a student. _Looking like that should be made illegal_, Hermione thought to herself as they reached a middle ground, hesitated, and passed each other. There was a flicker of…something…behind his impassive face. It had been in his eyes; a recognition of…her? She'd never seen him before – she was a newcomer to the 1940s, where would she have seen him before, anyway – but he seemed to be aware of her. She gave him a smirk and continued towards the staircase down to the second floor, never catching the flash of red that rushed through his dark eyes, "_Well, you are…the only exception…You are the only exception…"_

"**Hermione**," growled the voice of Snape as she stepped onto the second floor steps. "You were to meet me twenty minutes ago, _darling_…"

He didn't like it when she made him wait. He was punctual, and so was she, but at times she seemed to let herself slow down and enjoy quiet strolls. She snorted and let him take her hand in his when she reached the spot he had fixated himself upon, "Madam Nettlestone kept me late."

"Inexcusable," drawled Snape. He placed her arm around his, her hand resting on his forearm as he led her down to the dungeons. "We still have the staff meeting after rounds before we can steal a private moment."

She preened, "Oh, you do know how much I enjoy those private moments…What will it consist of this evening? Will you be reading to me by a fire, or dueling practice – maybe an embrace and a chaste kiss? I do know how much you adore stealing kisses," she lowered her voice to a breath against his ear, "_Professor…_"

He shivered, but his face remained an emotionless mask. She took enjoyment out of his shivers. It was the closest to more-than-platonic-feelings that she could come to at the moment. She held no lustful inclinations towards the wizard guiding her through the corridors, catching snogging students and taking points from Houses. Not unless he was using that commanding, cruel voice that reminded her of potions class during her time at Hogwarts, then she would experience a very specific tingle run along her skin. She had almost panted when he had told her that at some point soon he would be putting her enhanced skin through its paces to see how much damage she could withstand without weakening; it meant torture. And he had told her in his professor-voice. She imagined she would enjoy that type of pain quite a lot in this new body, her old body with a thicker skin. The pain she was in from holding in her magic was a sickly, ill torture – a pain from not feeling well. But she had seen the look in Snape's eyes when he had implied what would take place as "experiments" on her physical self. At that moment she had realized that Snape had a very dark, evil side that he hid quite well. He was a closet-sadist, and that had sent a twinge of desire coursing through her. She was just as excited about the venture. She wanted to know how her body would respond.

He leaned away from her slightly and glared, "Not _here_, Ms. Granger…we have duties to perform."

"Oh, yes," she blushed as was expected, playing her part in their fake engagement perfectly since they had arrived at Hogwarts. "I'm sorry…Severus…" She still had trouble saying his first name. It seemed naughty to her. He had always been "professor" or "Snape" to her, and now she was expected to call him by his given name as if she had only ever called him by "Severus." It slipped off her tongue well enough, but she desired for him to remain as her teacher. It seemed by calling him by his first name that the dynamic of their strange relationship/partnership would change exponentially. Though, she always noticed the flicker of pleasure run through his face when she said his name…_Severus…_

He liked it…

She changed the subject as they finished their patrol and began to climb the stairs up to the staff lounge, "Would you like me to play the piano for you this evening? I've had this song stuck in my head all day and I believe you would enjoy it."

"I had other things in mind for the evening, Hermione," answered Snape with a devious smirk. "I believe a little practice in control would do you good…"

He was going to make her hold her magic in longer tonight, "Bastard."

He chuckled and grinned, and she glared at him impetuously. They strolled in silence, but Hermione gave his forearm an affectionate squeeze every now and then and it seemed to placate him more. As the days passed she found it more easy to manage and manipulate the mystery that was Severus Snape. If she wanted, one day she could play him until he was putty in her hands. But then, what fun would that be if he didn't hold onto that feisty bite of his? If he wasn't head-strong and stubborn, he wouldn't be her professor, would he? He wouldn't be Snape, and then she wouldn't want him. It would just be a waste.

She smirked, "It wouldn't be a bad thing for _you_ lose control sometimes, Severus. I'm quite sure that you would _enjoy it immensely._"

He remained silent, but she noticed the cringe at the corner of her mouth. The thought of relinquishing the reigns of his own body pained him, it seemed. Nevertheless, she would find a way to get him to release his power and let it wash over her. She wanted to feel it crashing against her skin like the Dark Lord's had during the Death Eater meeting. She wanted to know if Snape's magic was electric and white hot, or smooth and subtle; it was a mystery to her and she wanted desperately to know. It was an obsession to her. Would it feel like luxurious fabrics against her skin, or would it be commanding and rough and violent? Would it be gentle or would it drown her under its weight? So many different curiosities she had regarding Snape and his – wait…what was that?

They were just a hall away from the staff lounge when she felt it; a shift of magic in the air. And it was a familiar magic in the air, as a matter of fact. She knew that power – she had experienced the cashmere and silk feel of it in her own time…just before Snape and she landed in the past…Voldemort?

_No, __**Tom Riddle**_, she corrected herself.

Apparently Snape had felt it too. He was pushing her against the wall and sending up a shield when she began to turn towards the overwhelmingly tangible sensation that was the Dark Lord's magic. Even at his young age he had it so well trained, and it was thoroughly intoxicating to her. It had a scent – hot and musky and purely masculine – almost like a spice of some kind. It tasted like the ultimate power when she breathed in through her mouth and nose. It pulled at her restraint, loosened her control until she was switching positions with Snape and covering the wizard with her body before turning towards the source of her unhinging. She had almost forgotten that he was a student in 1944 – what large thing to let slip from one's mind.

He was staring from the shadows; she could feel his eyes on her. She looked up and down the corridor before unraveling the tight grasp on her own magic and letting in uncoil outwards. It filled the corridor in mere seconds and she could _feel_ where he was hiding. He was only a two meters away and she was certain it was difficult to breathe for him, at present. No matter how deceivingly feminine and soft her magic may feel to others, it could still clog the senses when she allowed it to. It would press around and then down upon Snape, make him fall to his knees as the tendrils caressed him; and she was certain that the young Dark Lord was being affected in much the same. She knew it was unfair – he was only seventeen – but she couldn't pass up the chance to make Lord Voldemort kneel before her, if only for a few seconds. That was how long it lasted before he released his full wrath and lashed out. Her magic was rebuffed, and his circled her viciously.

The feel of his full power at such a young age burned her skin deliciously. It sizzled and tingled and she sighed happily. She never would have expected to find power so attractive when she was a schoolgirl. Of course, when she was a student she would never have believed it if someone told her how far she would immerse herself into the dark arts later in life, or how _good_ it would feel to be a little bad now and then. She would have laughed at the person and told them to be checked by a Healer for brain injuries. Now she reveled in the feel of just raw energy lashing out at her. Now she never wanted to go back to being innocent and naïve.

She smirked towards the shimmering shadow of the future Dark Lord and let her power caress his skin like only a female would, "Hello, Tom, it's been awhile."

"How do you know my name?" He stepped out of the shadows and cancelled his Disillusionment Charm. Hermione's eyebrows rose slightly in surprise before her face became a teasing mask. He was the Head Boy from the third floor corridor – she had passed him a mere two hours ago. "Why are you here? Where do you come from? Tell me now!"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," she waggled a long finger at him and letting Snape step in front of her.

"I believe that you should return to your dorm, _Mr. Riddle_," drawled Severus. She could only assume he had fixed the young Voldemort with one of his infamous glares. "We wouldn't want to cause a scene if _Professor Dumbledore_ appeared, would we?"

"What do you know," Tom hissed, taking another threatening step towards the odd couple. "You've been hear two seconds – you cannot possibly know every student by name and face!"

Hermione peeked around Snape's broad shoulders, the light from the boy's wand dancing in her brown eyes. She watched him watch her as she reached around and clutched Severus's arm tightly. She brought one finger up to her lips, "Shhh…"

The look on Tom Riddle's face was simply priceless as Snape and Hermione dissolved into the shadows. She could hear his furious shout echoing after them as they slinked off towards the staff lounge for the meeting. She knew what they had done was blatant provocation towards the future Dark Lord, but in her mind there had been nothing else they could do. Dismissing his inquiries, evading the prospect of answering his questions, or simply ignoring him would only prove to render the same reaction out of the boy. In all rationality, any avenue they took would have led to the same conclusion in Tom Riddle's mind. He would seek them out, delve deep into their backgrounds, but he would come up with very little. Their presence alone had already, apparently, disrupted his school-life. Hermione shrugged it off and chalked it up to one simple thought: it would have happened eventually.

* * *

Lyrics used were from "Only Exception" by Paramore.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Reviews are most appreciated. :)


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